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!["You're Holding Your Glass Like a Shield"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"you're-holding-your-glass-like-a-shield"-65-cover-1782734449998.jpg)
I remember the way the condensation from her gin glass tracked a slow, clear line through the fine dust on her knuckles.
She smells like expensive paper and the kind of tequila that makes you forget your own zip code.
The city lights below looked like a scattered pile of gold nuggets in a miner's pan, but Sloane only had eyes for the way Dominic’s suit jacket pulled across his shoulders.
I can feel the exact moment the ice hit your tongue because my own mouth suddenly tastes like bitter gin and cold iron.
I watch the way your collarbone catches the city light, a sharp, elegant line that looks like a challenge I haven’t been assigned yet.
The city at three AM has the same hollow resonance as a hollow-body guitar played unplugged—all vibration and no projection.