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Posted: Fri Mar 20, 2009 10:35 pm
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Posted: Fri Mar 20, 2009 10:53 pm
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Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2009 2:25 am
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Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2009 2:26 am
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Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2009 2:28 am
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Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2009 2:29 am
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Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2009 2:30 am
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The feline bartender grins at you from across the counter, his hands busy as he creates your special mocktail – not just any mocktail, but a C*cktail mocktail, what with an asterix and everything. "I'm delighted to be doing this for you, you know," he says, and you wonder how his deft hands can measure and pour without his taking his eyes off you, "it's an absolute pleasure."
When you look down, your mocktail is done. It is pristine and perfect.
As you reach to admire it, he taps your fingers with a velveteen digit. "Finishing touches," he explains, and empties a solution from a small metal pellet into the drink. He slides a coaster under, and it is now truly complete.
You decide it's best not to drink it, now that it's obviously spiked.
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