tasting raze you're at a table in the back with someone i haven't met before. i don't know what i want to drink. the woman who owns this place suggests a pale ale that's brewed in-house from burnt grass and broken dreams. it needs to steep a while before the flavour blooms. she sets an infuser down in front of me. a shallow dish with a lid that lets me see the sea inside. you speak of your children. i ask how old they are now. nine and eleven, you say. storm clouds gather in your eyes. you're grieving the loss of the life you might have had, undone by the urgency of time. i say we're still very much ourselves. nothing has ended yet. you wrap your arms around me and tell me to keep talking all night long. i dip my fingers in the amber nectar i've paid for the privilege of consuming, slide them into my mouth, and gag on the tepid taste of faith as it falls to pieces. 260524 what's it to you? who go blather from