Sipping from a whisky sour, the acidity of the lemon equal to the PH of the opening on my opposite side, the egg white mucus, the sweet taste of the bourbon pricking the tongue: A pungent taste smoldering the taste buds. I bite the slice of orange; the exploding endocarp of the fruit enhances the previous tastes circulating in the opening. The salivary glands do not hesitate to secrete their crucial fluids, rich of enzymes who are responsible for the digestion of the fruit. I wash away the explosion of flavors with some Volvic water. Drops of water form on the lips. It feels like I am due, so I friendly nod at the waiter who comes over to my table and tell him “another please”. He seems to understand the state I am in somehow and leaves immediately to inform his colleague to mix me another one of his potions. Even though the place is packed he doesn’t hesitate to put words into action. The glass is full again like nothing happened. Again, the nectar comforts me with its richness, filling my belly with heat and my head with its accumulated smoke. My blood pressure is already low from all the blood loss and seems to be going to drop even more.

I know I shouldn’t be in a bar since my body is still healing but I am non-conforming this time and absolutely not willing to put in something that would obstruct my recovery. Now is the first moment I can reclaim my freedom and I am taking it to the fullest. I can’t even use my regular bungs, so it will probably be a bloody business by now. There are multiple reasons for me to wear a dress. She needs to air is one. Therefor it’s a loose fit in the darkest hue of black I own. This will help to hide possible stains and let me leave the place without any suspicious looks. Some measure of shame must have left my body with you. The sacred place you inhabited for so long must have been blessed by your silent prayer. I am drained, my drinks follow the same pattern. I get up, stretch my legs and go for a small stroll to wear of the fuzziness. I am whole again, wholly myself.