The Room My Father Built
Not a lot.
A faint sheen, like the first second of oil on water, catching the candle.
Wine does not do that.
And I sat with a glass in my hand and a man across a table saying something about a boat, and I put it down and said, “God, I’m so tired,” and did not drink it.
Here is what I did next, and Ruiz has since described it in a training as “the single best act of civilian evidence preservation I have ever seen,” which is generous, because what actually happened is that I panicked in a useful direction.
I asked for a coffee.