Glasses were for pussies, or people who gave a shit; Eddie raised the bottle up to his mouth and swallowed twice before tilting it down. He began to cry. What he was doing was a crime; you didn’t treat a good single-barrel bourbon like this. Screw the price, you didn’t do this to something so finely crafted. Good bourbon was an art unto itself; guzzling it was just being disrespectful to the artist who created it. At least he wasn’t watering it down with ice or destroying its delicate flavor by drowning it in Coke like some clueless a-hole. At least he had enough respect to honor the craftsmanship.
Besides, he knew where the road he was traveling down was leading and he decided he didn’t want to go there, no matter how tempting. And he was tired of waking up on the floor covered in puke. He rolled into the kitchen and pulled a glass off a shelf. Eddie was no pussy, but he had decided that he actually did give a shit.
Copyright 2014 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.