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There’s a pot of coffee. There’s a pot for cooking things in. Pour a cup. Take a sip. “Ahhh…” Comes a gasp. Delicious. Dark. Strong. He liked his coffee black. Not exactly like his women—he takes those in multiple shades and colors from black to white and red to purple—but today there was only...

A simple man, he sat alone, if not lonely, with an empty stool on either side. Music drifted from overhead; strum and twang of guitar and drums on par. Viewscreen above. Some ball game, and he didn’t care about the teams, wasn’t invested as he sipped his drink. Red wine, as fine of Merlot as...

Ask a man last night what he had to drink—a man would tell you it was a glass of red wine. Merlot, to be precise, lapping at that flow of graphite, blackberries, black cherries, and oak. Swirling red nectar around and around in the bowl proud and tall from stem to base and all. A dry wine, sweet...