FORTY-FIVE PERCENT

Lips clenched tight as the glass leaves my lips.

I savor the fiery oak on my palate before I swallow.

I allow the flames that once helped fill the bottle of a Buffalo Trace, fall down my throat as waterfalls do.

It crashes down into the deep depth of my soul.

Eyes closed shut, head slightly tilted back, I release my lips from the pressure that held them shut and slowly exhale my very existence into the air.

The spirit manifests itself in me.

“At last!”

My soul settles in satisfaction as the only source of its warmth begins to kick in.

I draw up my cigar and my soul leaps in joy as it awaits its second course.