A Good Rain by Donald D. Shore
Plenty of women have left me. Some of them are just blurred memories. But Clair is going to stick with me for a long time. The empty whiskey bottle stares at me from the top of my cigarette butt cluttered desk. I fish a half smoked Marlboro from the ashtray and stare right back. There’s nothing but residue in the bottle. Brown drops of rotgut. I light the stale cigarette. I can’t take my eyes off that bottle. My hands are sweating. There’s a swallow left in the bottle. There’s a taste. And it wants me as bad as I want it. My phone vibrates against the desk. I stub out the cigarette and check the number. I want it to be Clair but it’s not. It’s Charlie Grace. “Hey, Charlie,” I say, my eyes drifting back to that beautiful bottle. The early light...