Our last drink wouldn’t be a brandy, neither would it be a gin. I know, Love, your tongue craves the taste of a dry old gin. Your throat yearns the burning sensation of a clean vodka;but you see, vodka wouldn’t be it either. Now don’t start complaining yet, hold on. Our last drink would be a wine; a wine so old and rich, a wine so red, a wine so tender and soft to the lips, just as you were.
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A Bowl of Cherries 