BODY Observing the contents of the crystal cylinder, a warming liquor, the colour of rich honey, winked back, glinting copper under the muted lights of the club’s carefully 'après work' atmosphere. His highlight reel ticked off darkened images: a tailored shape bent over a large metal desk, the small hours of the morning, growing smaller. The relentless demands from a client parade. He looked hard at the glass, tilting it this way then that. Watching the potion move, the way its body lay against the thickly transparent walls, legs to heaven—it was neither too heavy, nor too light.
NO S E A few spears of grassy smoke escaped the glass and travelled upwards prickling his nose. The young executive breathed in deeply, exhaling in a long sigh. There was something to remember, something about the long road. His mind went to summer: a bowl of fruit left slightly too long in the late afternoon sun; the smell of the sea somewhere just out of sight; notes of dust, blown up by the rhythmic rock of a creaking chair on the old wooden porch. He remembered the clammy, mudcaked hand of childhood. The man smiled slowly and raised the glass to his lips.
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TAS T E The first sip was long and friendly; the whisky felt its way around his mouth before he swallowed—firmly, purposefully. He took another sip and the peaty, salt-kissed toffee lingered gently, a sweet burn at the back of his throat. It was true about the finish: He could taste it still, though it always slipped away too soon. He closed his eyes and embraced the sensation of youth, of sitting at the peak of an empire, on the edge of everything. The crew would join him later and then they would switch to vodka, but he had another hour to savour until then.