Pour one more glass of red. Let it slosh around the sides when it pours, let there be a clunk when the bottle goes back to the bench.
Turn down the lights, lean back in your chair. Sip on your wine, sip again, close your eyes.
Augie March. Moo, you bloody choir.
Go back to the best, the best, the very best night of your life. And then further back to the one that was better than that. The one you can only bear to think about every now and then.
What a night. What a song. What a night.