cocktail raze when i get home, he said, it's cocktail hour. i'm pouring myself a nice cool martini. i don't think i've ever had one, i said. what's in it? vodka, he said. he waited a beat. then he gave his real answer. i like to slip in a bit of vermouth. add three or four olives stuffed with garlic. a few tablespoons of juice from the olive jar. you know, i couldn't stand green olives when i was younger. i love them now. i guess sometimes you need to grow into an appreciation for something. then a whole lot of vodka goes in. after one of those, everything tastes good. and after two, the dishes ain't getting done. 220728 ... kerry she asked the waitress for a pitcher of margaritas. "we don't do pitchers," the waitress said, droll voice, black cat eyeliner, waist-length blond hair. maybe eighteen. "since when?" she nearly sputtered. painted on eyebrows, tight ponytail, loud voice, philly accent. "we've never done pitchers." "i could swear i've ordered a pitcher here." the waitress looked bored. "maybe you're thinking of cantina los caballitos." this was la llorona cantina. "well it was some cantina. oh well." she looked at the three of us. we were all seated at a round table on the edge of the "patio," nearly on the curb. "margaritas for everyone?" we nodded. "and do you have skinny mix?" she asked the waitress. "sure." i found myself squirming and then judging myself for even noticing or caring or having any opinion whatsoever on her asking for a margarita with skinny mix. she told us a bit about her time in the navy. she's a teacher now--middle school. she can get them in line, i'm sure. he petted her arm. "she sells herself short," he said. "she's been in the navy but has a cosmetology license, she's a teacher, she can do anything. she's the handy one around the house." they told us about how her dogs had come to love him so much, that she was the boss dog-mom and he was "the fun one." "he comes home and they're all over him," she said. "crying and crying and he sits on the couch and they just crawl on top of him whimpering and crying like he's been gone for a week." alex said "yeah i get accused of being the fun one." he said "i just have this thing where i'm like 'love me, please love me,'" and he laughed like he was kidding but i wonder how much he was actually kidding. earlier he'd made some crack about spending time in a mental hospital. after margaritas and a bowl of guac with chips it was time for round two. she busted out the cocktail menu, swatted at him, "babe, what do you want?" "oh i don't know. you know what i like." "la carreta," she read, "bulleit, hibiscus, mint, pomegranate juice..." he grimaced. "that sounds very... sweet." "well what do you want?" "just pick whatever." when our drinks arrived he wound up with what looked like a strawberry smoothie in a champagne flute. he looked disappointed, shot me a glance across the table. i tried to look sympathetic. shrugged. he grimaced again. at one point, i think it was when she was talking about her cousin who knows everyone on the city council and is so involved and his twitter is popping off and it's absurd, he nodded at me, and i didn't really know what it meant, but it was a kind of acknowledgment that almost felt secret. and i try to remember his face but now it's a blur, and all i can remember is the feeling of being disarmed, and somehow of being in collusion, but uncertain about my part in it. 220928 what's it to you? who go blather from