The ice ricochets in my glass and I can feel my pulse flit. Anyone with younger eyes would’ve seen mine widen. It’s beyond Pavlovian now. And I like it. When that light brown, liquid sweetness touches my lips, its entire chemical makeup gets deconstructed in my mind. Every note of its aging; every facet of its tannins. But the rush is what I’m waiting for. Not the college-kid rush of a six-pack and bumbling bra fingers. No, the trader watching the crawl whose inside info is about to land him two brunettes, some 90% pure and a top ten ranked weekend.
“I’ll do this again.” I say, pointing to the remnants of my last 2-for-1.
The pour comes and my imagination sinks to places where shame’s unrecognizable. A dirty alley screw with an MBA chick? A stoop tongue-wag with a leggy new arrival from the middle of nowhere? The options are endless in this city! Not yet, though. It’s too early. A few more sips. The pleasure’s in the planning.
The invitation to talk about myself arrives. It’s Jacob, the 23-year-old whose so comfortable here it makes me uncomfortable. He’s a babe in a bar with seven pro drinkers and a lot of empty tables. Then again, I wasn’t much younger when I had my first, so I pass him a silent nod as I wish him better luck.
Readying a teasing sip, I notice the brown in the glass is getting lighter each year. Sure, I’m on East 2nd, a dive but fifty credits doesn’t get you as much as it used to. In my baller days, it was 86th and 5th, and Viejo, the dark caramel rum that tasted like sex with a hot model teenager with big tits. The chairs were bigger and I tipped a c-note, but I like this place, it’s darker.
A long sip and my mind spins a web of UberMe lines across the city. Every borough’s a foreign land, every sector an alien landscape. Finishing my drink, I want it all. I need it. To breathe in its noises and suffocate in its smells, to mock its despair and chase its power.
“Another.”
My commitment is unquestioned. A hundred places know my face and I got a golden ticket to whatever pulls my trigger. No need to rush the night, though. If I miss this, I’ll be here to catch it on its way back round.