One could lose oneself in its hypnotic lure.
I lift it to my lips. A whiff of heavy barley tickles my nose. I swish it around.
It swings gracefully around the glass. Lingering at the corners and slipping smoothly to the other side.
I touch it to my tongue and it tingles with anticipation.
I am already surrendering to the inevitable. It's one of those evenings.
You feel the melancholy coursing through your veins.
The toxic liquid burns down my throat and drops to the pit of my stomach that bursts into a ball of flame that rises stealthily into my lungs.
And I progress through the contents of my drink.
And the contents of this sadness in trance like movements wanders in and out of my mind.
The evening has just begun.
And time has slipped into a hazy notion of something that used to have significance and yesterday's wretchedness, today's silence and tomorrow's predictable emptiness dance in silence together.
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