by Claire Harder
She looks down with solemn eyes as the bartender flees to another order, unaware of what he has left behind. The full, rich Sangria feels like the beginning of a secret, a holy libation to be drunk when no one is watching. It is dark, bittersweet, ritualistic - reserved for the lonely alcoholic in need of absolution. At last she lifts the Sangria to her lips and takes a Eucharistic swallow. The burgundy wine slips down her throat to rest somewhere in her torso. It reaches beyond mere tequila and rum to plumb the depths of her soul.
6S - C3
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