#cocktails
Resolved feathers landing
In her hush cocktail
Dressing our sights
Scenes we wouldn't spend
Trots unboxed
Only four out
And about
A picture we couldn't snap out of
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 11:29 AM UTC
As a writer, I am charmingly unoriginal. I use the same letters as everyone else and much of the identical punctuation - but in my defense, Coca-Colas are all the same, and each one is delightfully refreshing.
On Sundays my Grandmère throws these fêtes, ‘social lunches’ where anyone might drop in - attendance, I‘m told, can be a social signal. Two weeks ago, it was fashion week and ‘smart society’ (the vampire pale and dangerously thin individuals casually dressed to **** were trolling for fun.
There were about 150 people there, like the Mayor of Paris, Saint Laurent’s Anthony Vaccarello, Léna Situations (GenZ influencer), Just Riadh (comedian), Delphine Arnault and the Archbishop of Paris - to name a few. But I was only there for a half an hour, and it wasn’t my job to take roll.
Now, these parties all play-out, to me, like romcom ‘problem comedies.’ You have the ever-present and delicate aroma of cocktails, an Archbishop (subconsciously dangling the high trap of moral purification and great, heavenly rewards), elder frenchmen, like my uncle Remy with his languid, cigarette-lipped, smoke-cured profanity, some models hoping to be seen and younger, eager eyed, corporate boy-men types ogling every feminine creature with alcoholic heartiness.
I don’t think Grandmère sees the fun undercard of human foibles, but there are big alcohol-fueled feelings in every register as these events hit their peak. Growing up, at these things, I’d sit quietly in a corner, usually with a book, pretending to read and just people watch. Everyone’s coming and going (‘free-drinks’) but 30 or 40 people are always around somewhere.
These days, Peter shares my little, flowered, corner settee. We sit, shoulder to shoulder, and snark, like huckstas for a sports book, about who’s thirsty for whom. It’s all questionable information, surface impressions and instant verdicts.
.
.
A Song for this:
Someone In The Crowd - Emma Stone, Callie Hernandez, Sonoya Mizuno & Jessica Rothe
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 8:49 PM UTC
O bartender,
It has been a while
You slinging drinks with a casual smile
Cocktails you throw and stir and shake
And at closing time my heart does break.
O bartender,
What to say, you always know
Crafted words and my excitement grows
Tequila, beer or simply rather
"I'm glad you enjoyed, would you like another?"
O bartender,
You always look after me
Especially when you find me on a spending spree
Thank you bartender for all the great times
For this cocktail now which you call mine.
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 5:47 AM UTC
This old fashioned simpers in my hand
Sweet and sharp, Bitter and Blight
it calms my everything
to a point
where I cannot
Deal
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:09 AM UTC
I sit upon an tall bar stool and watch them play.
The air is humid and full of mosquitoes.
One falls into my cocktail and writhes about in what I like to think is terror. Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant.
Though its all too easy to think that.
My eyes and attention stray from those I had been previously observing. Drawn to the glass as though it were a beacon.
"Hello little guy." I whisper into my glass. "Want me to help you?"
I laugh quietly to myself for a moment, then down the contents. "A new page tonight?" I ask myself mockingly.
Smoke is billowing into the dimming sky. It is far away, but almost perceptible to my nostrils.
I wonder: is anyone burning? Perhaps a once happy family. Too far away for me to help anyhow. Even though the desire is there.
Hopefully it works out how I hope it will.
I regress with closed eyes back to the day a relation brought home a retriever puppy. Remembering how I had kicked it like one would a football to make it stop crying.
Such bad behaviour. Deserving a beating that. Its a shame my relative was such a soft-hearted one. More punishment would have been deserved.
My eyes open and dart back to the place I was watching before. I notice they're gone.
Playing a childish game near the poolside. One falls into the pool and splashes about furiously. No one is around to help it.
I stand up and walk over.
A look of terror, perhaps hope, appears on its face as it looks up at me. I know better of course.
Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant.
After all,
The mosquito,
Fire,
Dog...
It all just depends on personal perspective.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC