He looked over the bottles behind the bar. They had multiplied since he stocked them last, but that was a long time ago. He was a patron now and the last drink of the night was always tricky. Through experience, he had learned what worked for him and what did not. As much as he enjoyed a whiskey before bed it never helped him come . . .
The old gas lamps reflected off the shiny brick streets due to the on and off rain. It always rained around this time of the year down here he thought. His leather soles echoed down the narrow streets in rhythmic staccato slaps. He had undertaken the futile task of tracking down the umbrella he started the night with but currently . . .
A few sips in he realized this would not be like any tasting he had ever attended. No sales pitch was lurking in the shadows. No brand to be seen. Each glass bottle held clear liquid and had blue painters tape attached. In Sharpie, he could read date, agave, and distiller.
He had been invited to try his buddies personal . . .
Time and Place for Cocktails
Certain drinks don't work in certain places. I have always known this but unless you change your geographic location and always drink the same thing it is often hard to tell.
Think cocktail bar vs dive and what you would order at each one. What if instead of a cocktail bar and dive it was urban and rural settings? What . . .
The car pulled up to the gate. He paid the driver and decided to walk from there. It wasn't a long walk to the cabin but it had been years since he had done it on foot. Orange and red leaves had begun to take over the green ones in a battle that they would all lose in a month.
His leather boots were broken in but only . . .
He had been home for a week. The early afternoon drinks and cigarettes while watching the sun slowly set had made a profound impact. He had not even unpacked his suitcase yet. The contents still held the sweet, floral, spicy, and a touch fishy scent of Marseille.
Watching the sun reflect off the shiny buildings on Lake . . .
As his eyes opened and the sunlight cut through his retinas he felt around to make sure he was alone. It had to have been the second bottle of Champagne. It always was.
He shuffled to the kitchen one naked foot and one socked foot in front of the other. His counter needed a chalk outline around the General Tso's he . . .