A sad scene in ATL
I was writing on my laptop at the bar in the B concourse Delta Crown Room, Atlanta airport. An older man, maybe about 75, sat a few barstools away from me.
Over the course of less than 20 minutes, I watched him drink three bloody marys.
It was 8:15 in the morning.
He was shaking. His face was red and inflamed. He was alone.
The writer in me wondered what it was that made him drink that much so early in the day.The drinker in me wondered what it was that made him drink that much so early in the day.
I love my cocktails. So far I've been able to keep myself from drinking them before 4 p.m.But I looked at him and saw a potential Me. It scared me. Rattled me, even.
Thank you, sir. I hope you're okay.
Over the course of less than 20 minutes, I watched him drink three bloody marys.
It was 8:15 in the morning.
He was shaking. His face was red and inflamed. He was alone.
The writer in me wondered what it was that made him drink that much so early in the day.The drinker in me wondered what it was that made him drink that much so early in the day.
I love my cocktails. So far I've been able to keep myself from drinking them before 4 p.m.But I looked at him and saw a potential Me. It scared me. Rattled me, even.
Thank you, sir. I hope you're okay.
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