Cosmopolitans
Two guys arrived at ten. Two ladies after midnight. It's one.
I smash limes. One two three Cointreau, four five vodka. Splash cran. Shake. Strain into frozen stemware. The brunette's done. She gets no liquor sub soda and won't know the difference.
"Eating spaghettios in my bikini," she was saying. "Didn't give a rat. That gay beach was liberating."
The blond passes her card. He scopes her picture on the back: blazer, blouse, hairdo, mascara.
"Damn, you're hot."
