The Drinker.

It’s nothing new. The promise tugging you into summer’s evening, or daybreak—the sun balanced on the beam of a horizon, broken by the buildings that crowd the sky. You’re on the streets again, pulled into places. Food, drink, laughter. Your friends asking you to try it again, one more time, the taste of what was once all you wanted—time suspended, motionless. The moment before the moment is gone.

It is here you remember the feeling. The first feeling. Caught between uncertainty and awe.