Carmella Unuscione finished her negroni and lifted the orange peel from the old-fashioned glass. She studied it; she felt close connections to things that were separated from their interior. "Another, Stand-Off?" Anole queried as he slid a rag along the counter.
"Nah, not my name, but thanks." She responded. The drink did little to soothe her, she felt emptier than before. Where'd she gone wrong?
Cortez traipsed past, his jacket slung over his shoulders and hair slicked back in a ponytail. Where did he get such an attitude? Why was he worthy?
"You know what? I think I'll take another."