He had been home for a week. The early afternoon drinks and cigarettes while watching the sun slowly set had made a profound impact. He had not even unpacked his suitcase yet. The contents still held the sweet, floral, spicy, and a touch fishy scent of Marseille.
Watching the sun reflect off the shiny buildings on Lake Michigan as it retired for the evening was nice but it wasn't the Mediterranean. The fishmonger at Whole Foods thought it funny he wanted to buy fish heads and bones. The French fisherman didn't laugh a week ago. In fact, they all gave him tips on how to make their perfect stew over a bottle of rosé.
He filled a pitcher with water and ice and grabbed a tall glass from the cupboard. Off his small bar cart, he selected a bottle of pastis and walked out on to the balcony. He poured a healthy dose of the yellowish liquid into his glass and filled it the rest of the way with cool water. The instant transition shocked him every time.
The drink was cloudy and yellow. Anise wafted from the top of the glass. His hands still smelled like the fish he had cleaned an hour ago. To make the trifecta he lit the last cigarette from his trip and set it in an ashtray like a deadly stick of incense. Taking a sip of the diluted drink while smelling the smoke and his fishy hands made him laugh.
Refilling the glass with juane and water he caught the last sliver of sun slip away. He drank his second one slowly and let it louche in his thoughts. He would certainly have to go back. Finishing his drink he left the glass by the ashtray and went inside to finally unpack.
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Bar To Home
A simple translation from bar to home.