by Nick Martino
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I take my time walking home, another Spirit
burned to the filter. The cars asleep in their silver
garages. All the little bells in my blood, chiming.
In the kitchen I make one drink, then another.
In the kitchen I make one drink, then another.
Negroni, hold the orange and vermouth.
The glass too. You know the old saying:
The glass too. You know the old saying: