Just bring the whole bottle on the side.
The woman whines into the glass, drinks the tears in between her sobs. She chokes on her sadness. The flavor is bitter, a heavy salt lathers and fizzes inside her cheeks. Her gasping weeps rattle the nearby tables and chairs. Customers duck and cover, awaiting the aftershocks of her seismic anguish. When they notice the coast is clear, someone asks if she’s alright. The woman places her fingers in the corners of her lips and tightly lifts them until they crack. Her voice grinds through her teeth as she swears everything is fine everything is cool everything is great I’m just so peachy keen a-okay don’t worry about me don’t worry about me don’t worry about