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Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The circumstance

You sit there under a dim light
Cornered off from the public
There’s little noise which you prefer
You admire the old-fashioned decor
A waiter asks what drink you’ll have
You chose a whiskey, top shelf
“Wise choice sir,” the waiter is pleased
You are unimpressed
There’s a phone next to you
Adds charm to the place
It works you assume
Picking it up, there’s no dial tone
You hang up the phone
The whiskey arrives
Taking a sip, your cell vibrates
 Message from an unknown sender
“May I join you for a drink?”
Flattered, you don’t reply
“How’s everything sir?” the waiter returns
You pull out your wallet
“No need, it’s already paid for.”
You ask how
Waiter points to his right
A woman smiles holding up a glass of whiskey
You smile back taking another sip

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