Midnight Lullaby
Blue cigar smoke drifted lazily out over the backyard, illuminated by moon light. At this point, all that was left in his glass were a few pieces of smoothed ice marinating in watered-down whiskey that tinked and clanked against the sides with every move. The last sip, often an afterthought, went down as easily as the rest of the drink did—slowly and with purpose.
As he leaned forward and set the cup down, he debated a trip indoors to make another one. A quick glance at his watch affirmed his decision. He placed the cigar in an old yellow ashtray that held the remains of past pleasures, stood up, and stretched before heading inside to make another cocktail.
The lighting inside was dim, the way he liked it. He peeked over at the couch to ask if she wanted another drink, but she was already dreaming. He quietly grabbed a bottle of Bourbon from the cart in the living room and made sure to tip toe back to the kitchen.
In his glass, he added a dollop of sugar syrup and a few dashes of bitters before pouring two fingers of Bourbon on top of the leftover ice. He decided to skip a slice of orange because uncovering the knife from the clean dishes on the rack by the sink would make too much noise.
He walked down the stairs, strategically skipping the two squeaky steps at the bottom. They kept ice in the basement chest freezer, and he selected a large clear cube that fit perfectly in his glass. He twirled the ice around with his finger for a few seconds before walking back out to revive his cigar as the cicadas continued their midnight lullaby.