The bourbon Miguel slides across the bar top looks like liquid amber caught mid-fossilization, Woodford Reserve Double Oaked that's been breathing in its glass long enough to release vanilla ghosts and caramel smoke. Light from overhead catches the meniscus, transforming cheap plastic into something almost sacred. I wrap fingers around it—not sipping yet, just holding the warmth like it's a heartbeat I can borrow.
Thanks, Dear.
His wedding ring catches light as he wipes down bottles behind the bar, that childlike voice emerging from his throat with tenderness that shouldn't survive in this fucked-up world but somehow does. No problem, Mom. You look like you need something that burns slow tonight instead of fast.
He's not wrong. The bar's got that Monday energy—end of a long fucking weekend vibe where everyone's pretending normalcy while the world outside keeps hemorrhaging in ways we can't quite ignore but refuse to let define every goddamn conversation. Ezra's claimed their beanbag throne in the corner, blue hair electric under track lighting, sketching something intricate on a napkin while half-listening to Leila scroll through her phone with the intensity of someone monitoring a wildfire's approach.
"Breathe" by Pink Floyd bleeds through the speakers, Roger Waters' voice floating over that opening guitar like meditation instructions from someone who understands that sometimes consciousness feels like drowning. The song hits different on nights when the basement feels like the last safe room in a burning house.
Keira sits beside me reading something on her tablet, present but not demanding attention—her superpower is knowing when proximity matters more than conversation. Della emerges from the kitchen carrying plates that smell like garlic, butter, and defiance, her femme butch energy filling space before her body does.
Blackened catfish for anyone who wants to remember what actual food tastes like, she announces, setting plates on the bar top with the authority of someone who's spent too many years taking shit from people who thought they owned her time. And before any of you assholes ask, yes there's vegetarian options coming because I actually pay attention.
