“Ah, I did say I would match you drink for drink, didn’t I?” Nathaniel Markson sways as he pulls another whiskey off a passing server’s tray. His flushed cheeks are evidence that he’s had far more drinks beyond the three with you.
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Lazy, swinging jazz filtered in my window from the music school on the floor below my office. I swirled my glass, listening to how the clinking ice joined the quick staccato melody from the saxes and the rain outside. Every once in a while, a rumble of thunder or bright flash of lightning added some excitement to my personal concert.
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Therrus eyed the snacks neatly aligned on the table and considered grabbing something before deciding that he was too nervous to find the food appealing. For now, he should just make his way to a corner. He turned and nearly collided with a young woman, almost sending the snacks on her plate tumbling.
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