it wasn’t anything to write home about, not that either will or freya had any right to judge. the wine cellar alone was worth more than their respective homes, even if it was clear the tenants chose to store their less-than-extravagant wines at the beach house. they had broken into a few bottles, conducting their own version of a wine tasting -- a process where freya would take a generous sip and make up her own terminology. “this is vile.” she held out the newest bottle she had picked out. “you gotta try it. it tastes like fuckin’ black licorice. super earthy. feels like i’m drinking dirt...bitter dirt. reminds me of a guy i made out with the other night. some fucker who definitely chews tobacco. i hereby dub this wine dirty icky tuesday night mistakes. has a ring to it, no?” @cstellos
