Nothing Good Can Come from This

by Kristi Coulter

Booze is the oil in our motors, the thing that keeps us purring when we should be making other kinds of noise.

I bought anemones for my kitchen table and a Wedgwood saucer for my house keys and an oval platter for my perfectly roasted chickens. And sure enough, over time these details added up to, if not happiness, at least the sense that I could quietly define my own life and taste based on small domestic pleasures.