Contributor: Joe Dinnen
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It plunged deeper and deeper until it lightly settled among the uneven surface. It hit rock bottom. Leaving a trail of tiny bubbles to the surface. From the outside it looked graceful – the round object plummeting down through the semi-toxic liquid, distorted by the transparent encasing.
Whatever, Ron thought as he eagerly gulped the remaining gin from the glass.
His plump fingers reached down to grasp the green olive he so intently watched. One finger in particular, marked by drastic tan-line, drove Ron to polish off the three martinis he consumed that night. His late father’s voice echoed in his head…
“Martinis are like tits – three are too many, one isn’t enough…”
At this point, Ron had no desire to deal with, think about, look at, touch, caress…tits. Nope.
Drinking alone in the lobby of a Residence...
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Author:
Joe Dinnen
