The Habitual Freak

Picking a nice goblet full of Golconda wine, I felt the days of Pondicherry with family. I smell the wine. It's in the name itself, the worst wine. I preferred, even, the Vino I drank in Cafe Mondegar (where I was strictly kept in the hands of elegance and expected to follow a tradition of wine drinkers) I sip it. I rotate the glass and let its flavour flow out of the glass rims. I let it flow, fall, and tell me a story. It takes a second. Then, I pace my eyes watching the room. I am the spectacle of habitual manners. I gulp the wine down and let it burn down my throat. And I feel the taste in my belly. Liquor goes down. Only in one way. Straight down, where it belongs.

the wine lover