the intersection (excerpt)

Left with nothing but my candy cocktail, I decided not to partake. I felt I had to keep my wits about me. I entertained myself as I always did when the energy waned in Harry’s: by taking inventory of the beverage stock. The bottom shelf was common fare. JD, EW, Maker’s Mark – nothing that excited me anymore. Above it were the past selves of those below. I could recognize most of them, but some had labels so tattered that you really couldn’t say what their brand was. On top, you had an assortment of colored bottles without names or logos, each modestly filled for special occasions. You could have any color glass your heart wanted. It was Hector’s collective mood ring. When it came to my little guessing game, these were the real challenges. The best games are the ones you can’t win. Today, I was drawn to one just right of center on the top shelf. I’d like to see this famous artist do as good a job as this: a mermaid, her curves blown in burgundy, her scales fanning out on the wood beneath her, her throat clogged by cork to prevent the whole world from falling in. On her chest was a gold cross I knew I had seen somewhere.