While walking home, he was thinking about what to have for cocktail hour. He knew the fridge contained two fresh bottles of sweet and dry vermouth. A splash of either stirred with a heavy pour of gin would undoubtedly do the trick.
He walked into the apartment and hung up his coat before looking over the bar cart that . . .
The bartender didn't seem bothered by his request for a spoonful of absinthe in his martini. Normally he took a martini as any sensible person would: gin with a touch of vermouth and a squeeze of lemon oil to garnish. Today, however, he was in the mood for something slightly different.
To anyone looking at his drink . . .
The time had come. It was do or die. If he dawdled it would all be a waste. The pearlescent liquid winked at him in the bottom of the straight sided crystal glass. "Goodbye."
No longer flirting with freezing temperatures the drink had grown-up. Mellowed. Aged. He remembered only ten minutes ago when it was fierce . . .
Throughout the years the methods had come and gone. Different bottles. Full to empty. He steadily searched for perfection. Each part of the drink had been examined with the strictest scrutiny. It was his favorite ritual.
The pieces of ice made his fingers look magnified as he held them. A swift smack with the back of a . . .
They usually had a cocktail every evening before dinner. Sometimes two. She would tell him about her day while he stirred their drinks. He wouldn't be home this evening though. It was a rare guys night.
By the time she got home, he would be halfway through a ribeye the size of Texas and all the way through his second . . .
It had been raining all day. He kicked off his soggy shoes the second he got the door open and decided then and there he would be staying in for the evening. There was no need to brave the elements and cooking dinner at home sounded nice.
There was a chicken in the fridge that would do well in the oven and throwing together . . .
He put the last dinner plate in the dishwasher and looked around. It was too early for bed. He wasn't one for having a dessert unless he could drink it. Sticking his hand out the window to check the temperature he decided to go out for a nightcap. He pulled his worn green tweed jacket on and walked out the door.
A taxi . . .