saturday night, 12:47am, slipper room

Whitney brought a tumbler full of maraschino cherries from the bar. It had been years since I’d eaten one and the taste brought back the Jockey Club and Albuquerque. I was bussing tables and hanging out with a girl named Lesa and between the rushes we’d have nothing to do but sit and eat maraschinos. There’s the old salacious line about a girl being able to tie a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue and Lesa could actually do it. But then I tried with a couple of the stems from Whitney’s tumbler and it was completely impossible. I felt like I’d been had.