He barely survived the trip home due to the obscene temperature outside. Walking in, he turned on the kitchen light to a loud pop and a flash. Darkness. Letting out a loud sigh he walked right back to the elevator. He checked the temperature again-- negative twenty. When the doors opened on the first floor he was wrapped up, . . .
The lock released with a loud buzz and he pushed the heavy outer door inward. He couldn't exactly remember which apartment his friend lived in but he was mostly sure it was on the third floor. Seeing as he took a cab all the way here he figured he might as well climb the stairs instead of riding the elevator.
When he . . .
The paper struck the door like it did every morning and he slipped his loafers on to go fetch it. After a quick glance, he set the news down on the counter. He dropped two pieces of bread into the toaster and then went to turn the shower on.
The fancy striped pajamas he was wearing made him feel slightly dressed up and he . . .
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 . . .
He had to fight the wind as he pushed through the revolving doors that separated the outside from the inside. The quick pace he usually walked at was carried out in double time. When he made it to the stairs that led down to the subway his cheekbones already ached from the cold.
The train was packed--standing room only for . . .
As he crossed the tracks on Canal he could faintly make out the gruff voice of a trombone from deep within the Quarter. He glanced down at his wrist out of habit and laughed because he had intentionally left his watch at the hotel. No matter. Crossing this historic street was as close to stepping back in time as one can get. The . . .
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 . . .