Angels and Absinthe

A great star, blazing like a torch, fell from the sky on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water - the name of the star is Wormwood. Annie picked up a bottle of vivid blue liquid with an ecstatic smile across her face. It seems our friend procured some Absinthe on her most recent voyage to the old world. The neon blue drink was rather un-elegantly poured over a pile of sugar on a spoon. I don’t believe any cubes were available. Michael was dressed in a blinding white jump suite with a lab coat that looked far too much like a cape and a little robotic dinosaur snaked across the room smelling everyone. What led us to this madness? I remember we were soaked and running. “No fireworks now,” I had thought. What the hell were we doing? Less than an hour ago we were participating in lavish dining with company of a most precarious dynamic. At any moment one would fear being attacked with a cocktail fork. I maintained my fixed smile as we walked with our glasses of Châteauneuf-du-Pape onto the polished brass elevator that hissed to the roof with a gleeful chime announcing our arrival to watch the fabled fireworks. A fresh fruit hit me in the forehead.