Triple Sec

by T.J. Alexander

“What would it be like, your bar?” Mel told her. She described a menu that was hers from top to bottom, a veritable journey through her bartending career, all the drinks she’d ever poured into a glass with her blood and sweat metaphorically mixed in. She noted especially the low- and no-alcohol options. Prices would be as reasonable as she could make them. Wherever it was located, Mel would make sure it offered community space because a bar, in her dream world, should be more than a place to get a drink. She wanted book clubs and knitting circles and activists rotating through on a regular basis. She wanted queer people to feel like they were being catered to, not merely tolerated. If she could ever open her own place, it would be a complete reflection of her. It would be everything she wanted in a bar: good ventilation, comfortable seating, no frills. And it would have a fucking ramp, because honest to god, how did anyone with a cane or wheelchair live in this city without going absolutely apeshit on all the establishments that didn’t give them access?

The dream

‘Just’ friends makes it sound like something lesser. Easier. I don’t think it is. It’s still a garden that needs tending, even if it’s growing something else. In some other season.”

A cocktail is a nice little thing, a luxury. It’s not going to change the world.” Jackson spoke up from the floor. “I don’t want to live in a world without nice little things. Do you?” “Damn it, Mel, with the world we’re living in?” Daniel shifted in his armchair so his legs were thrown over one arm and he could gaze fondly in Mel’s direction. “Some of us could really use a fucking drink.”

Amen