"Drink"

It was still warm for an October night. Especially for an October night. Most people don't think about it, but it really isn't uncommon for weather to get as high as 72° F in the late days of the month. Something about those days seems to make the air beg for a hint of warmth.

On that day, it was 80°.

We were well within the season of stouts and dunkels, but of course the warm weather made everyone ask for shandies. Not one for beer myself, I ordered a bourbon mule and tried to play out some Kentucky Derby highlights in my mind. Never mind the fact that I never even watched the derby, nor did I ever care to.

"Izza good ni-ight!" Cormano slurred as he leaned against me. Not that I should be thinking anything about his stupor; I was about as drunk as he was at the time.

"Guh, yeah... Hellyeah!" I slurred back to him. We had just stepped out to the bar's balcony overlooking the East River.

Fuck, man. Beautiful view.

Realizing that I already killed my mule, I went back to the bar for a martini.

I went back to the balcony for the view. Cormano was still there, gazing into Manhattan's lights. I gazed too, lost in their hypnotic suggestion. What was there in that borough that Brooklyn didn't have? Jack shit?

...yeah. Jack shit sounded about right.

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