The glass was crystal clear but for a tiny chip on the rim, the fog created a blurry transparency by my breath and addressed the smudged finger marks. My mouth dry and lips cracked from lack of fluid, savored the ice The glass was a beautiful sight and the water even more so. I could feel my throat shivering from the icy flow of fluids hasty running down my esophagus. The swath of feelings that made my body quiver of excitement. All of this satisfaction came from a drink, the drink that only mattered at that moment, the one who brought pleasure to my thirsty mouth, it was like heaven brought to earth. Yet, it belonged there, in the isolated mysterious room. Nobody entered there except the employees, but just by walking by it you could feel the frosty airbrushing through your arms that imminently made you step away from it. They brought this stunning refreshment from this room within the saloon. It is the old west? How is it possible to keep it freezing in here? The only thing that was brought up to mind was the river, the ice-cold river that my grandma told me about. Everyone in town knew that jumping in there was virulent. You could freeze to death by attempting to swim in there. They probably moved the water, perhaps take big pieces of ice, into a container, a big giant bowl, and stored their bottles of beer in it. That was the only way I could imagine to store such heavenly drink that brought contentment to many.
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AuthorPaola Toledo Real Archives
October 2018
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