Sour Mash

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. My shoes tapped on the cold, hard concrete which shimmered with the gleaming prism colors of shattered glass, rock, and broken bottles. It was freezing, so cold that my face felt like it would peel down like a overripe banana. Bundled up in my wool pea coat, hands in leather gloves, hat with tendril curls framing my face, I lowered my head to keep that hawk from pecking at my face. It was a cold, crisp, autumn day but a freezing, dark, dry, bitter night. My heels tapped by winos whose hands were too weathered to feel the freeze. I walked by men standing on the corner shooting the breeze, in leather jackets and loafers smelling of old spice and tobacco. Their whistles cutting through the tapping of my high heeled shoes. One boldly reached for my hand, his soft but callused finger caressing my palm. But I was on a mission. My mouth was set on something warm, bitter but with a sweet after taste. Strong, mellow and tantalizing. I needed the shot. I reached my destination. Soft jazz, low voices, clink of glasses, hearty laughter, the sizzle of a steak or maybe it was chicken frying.. No.. That’s beef I smell. The warm ambiance of the bar welcomed me. The door shut behind me leaving the icy wind wailing to itself. Shuffled out of my coat, pull out my cigarillo, cherry flavored. Light it. Take a puff. Inhale.. Breathe.. The scent of sweet cherry relaxes me from the inside out. The bartender smiles at me.. His one gold tooth gleams in the light. I tell him to give me two shots of sour mash. He looks shocked. Shocked that for once a woman isn’t coming in asking for a Shirley Temple, a Screaming Orgasm, or a Sex on the Beach. A pretty woman coming in ordering two shots of whiskey straight is shocking to him. He looks at me for two more seconds to make sure I’m not joking. I puff on my cherry cigarillo, flick the ash in the crystal ashtray. The bartender promptly turns, and before I can finish two more puffs, he sits two shot glasses of mash in front of me. I stub out my cigarillo, throw back both shots of mash. I breathe… The bartender ask me if I want another. I say “No, Thank you.” I slip my coat back on, my hat and click clack out of the door into the wailing wind.