Wine

She grimaced, then handed me a glass of red.

So dramatic. Jesus, she’s picky when it comes to wine.  It tasted… Metallic. She didn’t strip the foil back anymore, just jammed the worm straight through into the stopper. She’d given up trying a long time ago. Just like I had. What the hell am I doing here? It’s going to take a lot more than a glass of wine to get through the night. I down it – and just about choke on a bottom layer of sentiment. Dammit. She –

She poisoned me, I thought, as the lights dimmed.