by Erin Nicole Cochran
Sometimes I sit on that stool and think that I just like the color of it. The amber gold that sits and swishes whenever I lift the shot glass to my lips and sip. The taste of it is warm, like a sweet fiery honeysuckle that stings the back of my throat and coats it like cough syrup. I don’t drink it down like it’s a race because that would be spoiling the flavor, and five dollars for two fingers of it isn’t cheap. The cigarette smoke gives it an even cozier taste, like a blanket covering my shoulders from the freezing temperature of the bar. Whether summer, winter, or fall, the conditioned air is biting, and I crave the golden warmth.
Erin Nicole Cochran, a graduate of West Virginia University, is currently attempting to finish the last ten pages of a novel that never seems to get finished.