Beer is brash and boisterous … that guy who bumps into you as you’re sitting at the bar, minding your own business, but then cusses you out. A second later, he thinks he recognizes you, slaps you hard on the shoulder, and asks “Hey, what do you think about our team this year?”
When you look at him with a blank look, he laughs and says “You’re that sportscaster guy, right?” and yells at the bartender for a round of shots. You drink one of them quick with no idea of what it is or who he thinks you are, but it just seems safer that way. As the shot burns down your throat into your stomach, the stranger turns and staggers away, ignoring the dirty looks as his arms and elbows bump into almost everyone else at the bar.
***
Wine is seductive, like the brunette with striking blue eyes wearing a little black dress who sits by herself at the bar. You both listen to the jazz trio at the stage up front and groove to the music each in your own way. She catches you watching her toy with the stem of her glass and returns your stare from afar. Before long, her unspoken question (or is it a challenge?) makes you drop your gaze though you regret it a half-second later.
When you look back at her, her face cracks with a one-sided, wan smile and she turns away from you to face the trio again. As much as you try not to stare, she never looks back and exits the bar when the band takes a break. You watch her glide out the door, leaving a lipstick smudge on the glass and your memory.
***
Liquor whispers, soft and sibilant, waiting in a rocks glass as it takes its time devouring the ice. You watch as the condensation forms on the glass until it rolls down and pools on the scarred, wooden bartop. An adult equivalent of Alice’s potion, it softly repeats Drink me until you give in … but just a sip, right?
Take your time, it whispers again, drawing out the syllables like the tail of a rattlesnake. I’m here all night. As much or as little as you want.
You succumb to another sip and curse when the condensation drips off the glass onto your shirt. You imagine hearing a soft chuckle as you wipe at the stain. Before long, you take another sip, but now you tap the bottom edge of the glass on the bartop before lifting the glass to make sure it doesn’t happen again. You set the glass down on the bar and lean in, almost making out the details of the muted hum of conversation coming from the mixture within …
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