She knew that tequila wasn't really his thing, but still that cold november night, she opened a bottle of Herradura. The reason? Maybe there was no reason. At least not for her. They had been at a mutual friend's party earlier. Around one in the morning she grew bored and told him: "Let's go to my place". So, they drove across the city, small-talking. When they got her place, she went to the kitchen and took out two glasses. Caballitos were never her thing. While she was pouring down the beverage, he observed her. They went out to the garden and drank. Not a word was spoken from either one of them. They didn't look at each other. They just sat there, drinking, feeling the cold breeze. She always out-drank him. No matter what the beverage was, he would always lose when he was drinking with her. By four in the morning, he rose and told her: "Gotta go". "Don't you want to sleep over?". He smiled and said nothing. They were too drunk. That would make them break their truce, their pact. He just kissed her goodnight and stepped out of the house. While he was driving home, radio threw away "Maps", he just pulled over and took him one hour to get himself together. After that night he couldn't see her in the eyes again.
2 comments:
And that's the way things are supposed to be... I don't like tequila either.
heartbreaking, it is..
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