This is but one paragraph to get your literary juices flowing:
Skin bitch left and came back cradling three gins against her tiny swastikas and lined them up on the bar. Squires took his time studying them, and then picked up one bottle that said Nolet’s. He gazed at the bottle as if he had found buried treasure.
“It is a violation of the laws of nature for such a fine gin to be found in a joint as benighted and wretched as this one, yet it appears that the fates have once again smiled upon me. Take this elixir, Jennie Lynch, and pour an over-generous portion into a shaker into which you have put exactly three drops of your finest vermouth and filled to the top with fresh ice, not the partially melted ice you foist on the unwashed but ice that is frozen so solid it steams. Bring this shaker and the largest cocktail glass you have and put them here in front of me. You will then stir twenty-five times as I watch, half clockwise and half counter-clockwise, place a single large olive in the glass and pour in the sacred creation until only fluid dynamics keeps it from spilling over. I will then kvell at your singular achievement.”
