The letter held the bad news and I let it sink in with the wine. I looked to my friend and Wine said, “Go on. It’s okay to cry.”

I swigged down the cheap cider as Dave staggered into the room, the whiskey on his shoulder laughing along, and Cider said, “You can’t leave me unfinished.”

Madison’s, and I take a final swig of my drink. Southern Comfort wraps its arms around my shoulders and smiles, whispering “Everything will be okay. Smile and let those eyes shine.”

The next bar and my WKD sits nonchalant on my shoulder. “This is totally the right time to point out his lack of ass,” he snickers as the other spirits look on forlorn.

At the club there are ghosts on everyone’s shoulders. A shove to the back and Vodka punches him in the back of the head. Suddenly I’m on the floor, legs off in all directions, Rufie in between them telling me to relax and I scream. The room changes shape and I think back to Wine and I miss her sweetness, and the bad news sends me home in tears.