Straight to the Heart
Kaminski’s assistant poured snifters of Black label all around. He dispensed generously. The level of the full liter bottle was only half full when he capped. I rolled the straight booze around in my glass, and then sniffed, as if to inhale the bouquet of a fine red wine.
“Fine whiskey,” I boasted, holding the huge glass out, then taking an infinitely small sip.
I put the snifter down on to the chess table. The whiskey I left behind would be put to good use.