floridita

 

The old man was in his usual place at the dark wood bar at la Floridita.

In front of him, a stemmed frosted glass, the product of local limes, orange liquor, and white anjejo rum.

He took the glass in his weathered hand, He looked at the sea in the mural of the city behind the bar. He said “Salud”.

The icy liquid slid down easily. It was his first of the day. And it was good. It would not be his last.

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