“The buying of drinks for other men, and the accepting of drinks from other men devolved upon me as a social duty and a manhood rite.” – Jack London
Summer 1997 ~ Sitting in the grand wood-paneled drawing room of the Westin in Union Square, my friend Chris and I survey the scene. High ceilings soar into the sky, and a menu filled with specialty martinis is presented to us by an attentive but not overbearing server. In downtown San Francisco, we are two young men starting the weekend, and our lives, like so many do. The excitement of a new city, the thrill of a vacation, and the company of a good friend swirl together and I drink it all in.
Chris orders a margarita, silly salty rim and all. I decide on a melon martini. The drinks arrive. Mine is bright green – it glows like absinthe. It goes down much easier than that wormwood bitterness though – a sweet, pucker-inducing potion with a bit of lime to balance the Midori.
After the second one, and before anything solid, I’m flying. Through Union Square we walk, and suddenly the crowds no longer matter, my non-existent love-life doesn’t matter, even the nagging urges to walk, issued by Chris of all people, don’t matter now. Just out of college, we have begun our adult lives. Like all other times when the bottle has been unleashed, I am more excited than scared, and the courage I find under the influence of liquor will become my trusted armor.
A decade later Chris and I will revisit the scene – the high wooden paneling will have been replaced by modern minimalism, and the ensuing years will have tread fine lines on our faces. But there is consolation in the company of a friend – and a martini.
{‘FireWater’ is a project from 2009 that has gone unposted until now.}
[See also Scene 1: Bourbon Street, New Orleans
and Scene 2: College Ave, Ithaca, NY.]
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