Today we write about: the bottle.
We had a little bit of rain yesterday, but not as much as they had originally called for. Shocking, I know - an inaccurate weather forecast.
Anyway. Combined with above freezing temperatures, it was enough to melt some of the snow but certainly not all of it.
So the winter wonderland survives another day.
The empty bottle rolls inexorably toward the end of the table. Fighting to keep the panic from her face, the bartender watches from across the room. It seems as though the entire building holds its breath as the bottle teeters on the edge, its shattered predecessors staring up at it from the floor.
Everyone knows that was the last drink the bartender could provide. Supplies have run out and the next delivery has been delayed. Everyone knows she has done all she can.
Everyone, that is, except the drinker.
He is blissfully unaware as he watches the bottle tip over the edge, smiling as it falls. The crash of glass doesn't seem to bother him. He is satisfied, or so everyone hopes.
Because if he demands another bottle and it fails to materialize before him, everyone knows that there will be no negotiations, no reasoning with him. No milk when he wants it? Then that baby is going to drown the room in tears.