“What is this?” I laughed and stared at my concoction, served in a tall glass with two thin straws. It was purple—not burgundy or dark like my shirt, but light purple. “Try it,” Martin encouraged and took a sip of his own drink. I took a tentative taste and felt the flavors of violet and raspberry and vodka exploding in my mouth. It was fucking delicious. I’d dump beer for this treat. I’d marry it. The aftertaste of ice cream made me register vanilla too.
