Adam and Eve
It was early afternoon in the summertime, and Twyla sat alone at a dusty table. She was running her wet finger along the rim of her wine glass, trying to make it sing. Racks of expensive bottles lined the café walls, many of which would likely never be opened. From among them she had selected a merlot, because her mother drank merlot; it was a 2022 vintage. There were hardly any fires that year, and she could only imagine what this bottle might have cost. Drinking slowly, she savored each sip like her memories of the summer it represented. She toasted to her mom.