The ice cold Michelada – made with Modelo Especíal and fresh lime – waits like a prize on the beige, tile counter top. There are velvet red cherries centered on the dark, wood table with two small crates of bright strawberries for siblings. There is chilled tequila. There is the ice rattle sound against glassware. Our mixed-up, cocktail conversations cross each other; thought-fingers tracing road map ideas. Really, they’re just words; whole sounds formed from partial sounds and stacked together to form syllable strings and, eventually, idle phrases.
This is our summer menu and, you see, we are going to get drunk today.
The Michelada goes down smooth and salty. The rich, candid Modelo flavor shines through, followed by the lip-pursing lime squeeze. Tongues lick salt from glasses, and a sea-tingle dances across our palates.
Outside, at the pool, where late afternoon sunlight beckons beyond the western seas.
We sit at a high table and puzzle over our drinks as the alcohol buzzes through our blood. All this feels so... Californian. And it is.
Who cares where conversations go in sunlight like this? Who worries about directions and decisions in a breeze like this? Who won’t drink from an ice cold glass like this?
Not me. Not us.
The sun rolls down its long arc and disappears. We shoot another thin pour of tequila and the night sets in. My friend builds one more Michelada in my glass...
This is our summer menu. I sip. And think.