Eli holds out a perfectly prepared martini –minus the olive- to Charlie who proceeds to drop one of Pat’s beady little eyeballs into it, the clear liquid sloshing over the rim of the glass. Eli screws his face up in disgust holding the glass out as far as his arm will stretch, before handing it over to me. I hold the glass up into the air, peering into it from the bottom of the glass, coming eye to eye with Pat’s. I chuckle to myself.
Ahhh... Five O'clock somewhere, indeed.
