There is something wonderfully narcotic when sitting alone in a New York cocktail lounge. Soaking-in the music, the voices and the energy. Catching her gaze over the edge of my rocks glass. The depth of her stare pulls me in as the whisky kisses my lips. How long have I been here? Why has it taken me so long to come back? Am I really here, or seconds from my alarm pulling me back? I sink further into the worn leather sofa crossing my legs exhaling as I take another sip hoping she is still curious. Those eyes have me trapped in a trance not wanting to escape.