The Difference is the Drink

Similar to, but unlike her father, depression drove her to drink-

coffee.

The spirits of its caffeine were better than any she'd ever seen

him down in a cold, hard, glass.

Some days called for a special

like a tall, skinny, extra caramel mocchiato.

Others-

for ice,

like those bourbons on the rocks he'd sip,

staring at nothing but the windowpane of a lonesome, dreadful, house.

The similarities between a shot of espresso and vodka were emblematic.

The difference was this:

her Starbucks was a form of legal, addictive stimulant,

whereas his liquor should be banned forever and all eternity.

For while she drowned her sorrows with a double-shot vanilla latte,

at least she was alive.

Whereas he-

 

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