I fill them up, too full in my flask the lid falls off, on the dance floor no less I take it with me still, the morning after while the mimosas are out I let it drive me, the windows rolled down unbothered by the way the sun stares that February night wasn't cold at all i spilled in the kitchen and that July in red hallways it stained the carpet but you place it back in my threadbare hands and don't scold me on the train you say "sip up" and remember, that's whiskey.