Rosé Colored Glasses
Same corner stool, It’d become a habit, an end of the day ritual like her morning cup of java and cig. “God, I miss smoking in a bar.”
Unable to resist the way the light illuminated the bottles she snapped a shot, “Occupational hazard.”
“What’ll it be tonight, love? Red, White, Rosé?”
“Yes please.” She smirked.
“Double Balvenie on the rocks coming up”
“Keep em following Mick. I’m having a row.”
“Swallowing memories again?”
“Usually” she tipped her glass watching the dance of cubes.
“What’s it this time?”
“Just can’t decide what I need more- a divorce or an accident.”