No night out ever starts with shots. Especially tequila. Tequila is a choice people only make as part of a chain of bad ones. I’ve never drunk tequila before midnight.
Select two friends (preferably of similar size and vintage)
Filter through a long Friday at the end of a particularly sour week
“One will make you grow taller, and the other will make you grow shorter.” The girl is laughing into my face and she is very beautiful, and all I can see is her and the bright lights behind her, and I know I have to choose or she might stop laughing so I drink the shot on the left and she takes my hand.
Come out with us. Have a drink. Just have one drink. Have a couple. It won’t hurt. You can just have a couple, can’t you? What’s the harm?
Drinks on the bar top
Ritual pending, inhibition erasure waiting in liquid form.
Hank’s thumbs hooked forward on his waist, his elbows sticking out like a trussed turkey. “I don’t care any more,” he said. “Just picked one.”
The Stud is sitting at the corner table already, playing with a shot-glass full of clear liquid like it’s beneath him.
“Hoy!” Calls the Weasel as he sidles over, all paper-thin confidence and affection…