#78 - Drink


“Seven stars, there are seven stars!” Mike turns to me, grinning from ear to ear.

“You know what that means,” Charro murmurs from his corner.
He’s been brooding in silence for the better part of the evening,
bearing his drink like a cross, all seriousness and gloom.
But now, even his lips are quirking upward.

They’ve got me.

“Drink!” The voices in the room become a chorus. Seven voices,
seven parts, seven bloody stars!

I bring the glass to my lips, close my eyes, and try not to wince as liquid fire spills
down my throat and tendrils of warmth begin to curl through my belly.
Three hours later, there are not seven stars, but eight, and Charro is laughing.