Friday Noir: The Dark, Dark Hours
That’s what you remember from that time, the humidity.
The way the air hung like a wet cloth on your face, suffocating you.
So warm, even the ice in the booze melted fast.
It wasn’t even worth the effort to put the ice in the glass.
It just watered down the booze.
And who wants watered down juice?
Better to let the brown liquid slide down your throat, scratchy but solving.
Especially this time.
Hard to say how things got like this.
Hard to say where things will go next.
Hard to breathe.
Just better to fill the glass again.
(I posted a smaller, color version of this a loooooong time ago. Came across the B&W and liked it.)
(c)Mark Krajnak | JerseyStyle Photography | 2016