He poured the tumbler full. Drink up, he said. The world goes on. We have dancing nightly and this night is no exception.
1 1/2 oz Bourbon
1/2 oz Mezcal
1/4 oz piloncillo syrup (1:1 piloncillo sugar to water)
1 dash grapefruit bitters
1 dash mole bitters
1 twist grapefruit peel
Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs where vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery. Grapefruit twist.