“When he hands me my glass, our fingers brush. He doesn’t say it’s on the house, but we both know that it is.”
What I Think Will Happen if I Go to a Bar and Order a Whiskey Neat
“One whiskey, neat,” I tell the bartender, settling myself onto a wooden stool. I can immediately sense, from the way he’s fiddling with his long but tasteful beard, that he’s attracted to me and intimidated by me in equal measure. When he hands me my glass, our fingers brush.
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