May 21, 2016
camillelafaye
“Excuse me, Miss,” Maverick attempted to wave down the bartender. The tender before her took his order and quickly filled it. As he didn’t intend to drink until the interview was over, the reporter’s neat whisky remained untouched. Light from the bar’s ambiance caught in the grooves of the rocks glass. Maverick knew it wasn’t crystal, but the facet-like cuts were expertly designed to catch the light and hold it in the drink.
Amazing, how such small things could capture a moment and frame it. Camille, Maverick thought, could be the light in the whisky. If his readership would tolerate an endorsing puff piece about a musician from Louisiana.
