Mixed Drinks

by Mike Hawko

The night's last drink did not come from the coins left in our pockets. We were stirred together, two things once so separate, now in a swirling liquor of tired and drunk, of shoulders bumping together and muttered apologies. Lights hung down from the walls and ceiling as fizzy golden carbonation above our heads. We two were sweet and strong, and I had never tasted anything like this. We went down easy and warmed the stomach and we gave each other the courage for whatever happened next. Safe and intertwined in a tall glass all our own, as the music died down to a quiet murmur, as the deepening darkness became foreshadow for the dawn, we floated there, mixed drinks.

6S - C3

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