The Toast

The first few sips of the ginger and dark rum concoction burned my throat and made my tongue tingle. Here's to forgetting, I thought to myself. Amalia looked at me from across the table.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

I made a face. "It's ok," I said. "It's boozey," I added. I took another sip. The burn was still there, but the familiar hum of drunkeness was starting to numb me.

"Let's toast ourselves," I suggested. She held up her glass.

"To forgetting!" I said.

She smiled.

"To forgetting."

1 comment:

The Mayor said...

Nice work, Weg. I got a hunch you're a chick (on account of the previous post about upper lip structure and kissing that had nothing to do with getting laid), but you've perfectly captured the male willful amnesia fantasy.