Anyway, I'm in the middle of writing a short story in a slightly different voice than I'm used to (seriously it's like killing me) and definitely from a different point of view. I figured, why not show you? So this is a small excerpt (seriously. a tiny one.) for you all to read. I hope you enjoy it:)
The old guy, a man named Joe who couldn’t have been any older than that ancient tabby cat you found, winked at me when I entered. We’d become good friends, Joe and I. I’m not saying we ever braided each other’s hair or gossiped about the new edition of vogue, but people grow closer after wiping down a bar covered in barf. After all, it’s not every day you can get up-close and personal with the contents of someone’s stomach. That adds another dimension of trust issues.
So, Joe saw me walk in, the same as I had for the past two months. Every Tuesday afternoon at two o’clock you’d trudge through the heavy door, splaying the bright light across the cement, make your way to the bar where no one sat (because honestly who gets drunk at two in the afternoon?), and demand a Manhattan—1 ½ part Jack Daniels, ½ part sweet vermouth, and a dash of bitters, served straight up with an extra cherry. And, predictably, I would come in at nine after getting a call from my buddy Joe to rescue you from yourself.
This time, the glass in front of you was short, fat, and mysteriously clear. Vodka? Not really your style.
“How has he been today, Joe?” My question seemed to amuse Joe, who chuckled at me. Joe never missed an opportunity to laugh, and with good reason. His monster shoulders shook, his mouth fell open without care as his booming laughter filled the room. An involuntary smile crept over my face, Joe’s infectious nature overcoming any sense of gloom I’d been feeling. Joe had the effect on everyone—everyone, of course, except you.
do people drink Manhattans straight up?
ReplyDelete