12 December 2011
Bar Stool in a Dusty Cantina
I am trying not to think too much about Christmas like usual. Pretty fucking easy to do when you have just dipped your toes into the open bar available to me until Christmas Eve here in Mexico, before the real back home Canadian Christmas drinking begins.
A tequila and soda was thrust into my hand, a glass of red into Sonja's, before we had even checked into our hotel. As returning guests we were given a better room with a better view, this time equipped with four upside down bottles of hard shit, two of which I drink.
Around the corner, just out of sight, a bar stool awaits me in a dusty cantina where they keep their bottles lined up alphabetically on glass shelves behind the bar.
A is for absinthe, motherfuckers.