At the corner tavern on Christmas Eve, there was no shortage of barstools, no deficit of loneliness. I carried my drink to a little table near the door—next to the Christmas tree spangled with tinsel and light. When she walked in, I was useless, I had no self-control. I couldn’t blame the whiskey, the jasmine wafting from her hair, or the soft jazz mingling with smoke scattering the blue bar light. There was something about her; she intoxicated me. I pulled her in hard; kissed her. I got drunk on her lips. I am poured out again…for my ex-wife.
Great story John! Your imagery is well written. I especially liked:I carried my drink to a little table near the door—next to the Christmas tree spangled with tinsel and light. (I like “spangled.”) Excellent word choice.
Thank you, Lisa. Glad you like the story. I too like “spangled” for many reasons, including the texture of the word in this story.
Enjoyed the word play and the heart of this story.
“I got drunk on her lips.” That, and more fine writing = a good story.
“…no shortage of barstools, no deficit of loneliness…” Gads, man, I wish I had written that!