Adalberto was so close…
Only 1 mo’ drink & he’d be able to rise to the next floor o’ the Eaves Tavern, where the jukebox music was heavier, the walls were made o’ metal ‘stead o’ painted wood, & the seat leather had comfortable tears.
But the mugs foamed with fluorescent foam, the bubbles zipped like rockets…
the heat o’ the blue flames…
Adalberto’s hand shook as he tried to lift to mug to his mouth, only to slowly drop it to take a breath. A spilt drop & it wouldn’t count.
He raised it to his lips & tilted it in 1 thick motion. He could feel the lava snake down his throat.
Then, like a stoner, he held his mouth & nose closed & gulped it all down.
He found himself surrounded by loud claps everywhere like wing flaps & whistles.
Then he felt below him rumble & then rise. He looked down to see the barstool’s neck stretching upward.