Skunk
(raising his shotglass to eye-level): You know what they call the whiskey that
evaporates in the distillery?
He
does, but says
deleted
name: Tell me.
Skunk:
They call it the angels’ share.
deleted
name (smiling): Hm
and
throws back the measure remnant in his own glass.
There
are minutes of comfortable silence.
Skunk:
My mother never drank. She was never drunk. Never. Not once.
