The drinks trolley rolls by, blithely smashing into the knees of the long-limbed. Compact and travel-sized, I have plenty of space, even in the cramped and ever-diminishing airline seats. I secure myself a bland Bloody Mary in a plastic cup, wondering for the dozenth time about the name of this precious, life-giving elixir - related to the gory bride we conjured in mirrors as girls.
I swirl the viscous tomato juice among the too many ice cubes and not nearly enough vodka, sipping through the tiny red straw…. I’m trying very hard to think about what I’m leaving and where I’m heading.
from Dead Letters by Caite Dolan-Leach (2017). Very Highly Recommended.