It’s like three days after Thanksgiving, and I’m just now starting to feel like I haven’t eaten an entire pumpkin. For the last three days, this bottle and me, we were on the same page.
In a “form follows function” sort of thing, if you’d put absinthe in an elegant bottle crafted to resemble a bottle of Victorian spirits, then this is a bottle of generic store-brand Pepto-Bismol, slowly oozing its way off the shelf in a slow bid to flush itself down the toilet and end its suffering.
I’m not sure what the weird runic letters mean. It’s probably an apology of some sort, or maybe “for external use only.”
Day 16: bereft of any sympathetic contact, the bottle decided to end it all, leaning out into open space and gently ejecting its cork. It’s final cry of “spok” was heard by none.
I will have nightmares about this…dark dreams about a bottle copping an extreme attitude and telling me how it is, and how it is going to be, waving its handle in a “I steadfastly refuse to take any sort of jive” way. I’d listen to a bottle, a bottle like that.
“Hey, sailor! Care for a pint?”
Goodwill on South First and Slaughter, Austin