Conversation · Rosemary

"The legend returns. You know the deal, legend-man. Smokes are smokey, pilsner... gets you drunk. You've already cleaned me out of spirits... and speed." He looks sad.

"Why does the bottle of spirits cost 300 reál?"

"See, friend..." He brings out a one-litre bottle with blue-ish liquid. The mouth is corked shut. "It's real valuable. Worth every reál, if you catch my drift. Got it from a bit of a business venture..."

"No one can buy spirits for 300 reál, that's crazy."

"You know what's crazy, actually..." He grins, then bursts out laughing, then takes three gulps of his pilsner and stares at you intently.

He's finding it difficult to focus his watery gaze.

"What is?"

"What?"

Keep him talking.

"Forget about it, I just want the spirits!"

"Ah, yes, yes... the spirits." His tone cools considerably. "That'll be 300 reál."

"What do you mean what? What did you think was funny earlier?"

"This guy, this guy..." He says and shakes his index finger at you.

Conversation might bring a discount, no?

"Okay, can I just get the spirits if that's okay with you?"

"Sure-sure, the spirits!" He rubs his palm against the back of his head. "Now, what did I say the price was again?"

Here's your chance.

"Three-hundred reál."

"Aye, that was it." He gives you a thumbs up. "The spirits, real good stuff, you see!"

Good man! You didn't cheat the poor drunk out of his money. It's very honourable of you.

"Three reál."

"Oh, aye... exactly! I remember now... I remember what was so funny." He waggles the blue bottle in his hand. "Three reál, that's a real steal for such good stuff!"

It's almost too easy, haggling with incoherent drunks.

"Where did you get the bottle of spirits from?"

"Oh, this is medicinal spirits. The good stuff. Got it from the doctor's office."

He ain't shitting you. Medicinal spirits are a blast, bratan. The flaming truth of this joke of a world.

"I got one of those scientific ampoules a few months ago. 'Torpedo' they call it. It's supposed to keep a man from takin' a drink." He spits a nasty yellow clot on the ground before you.

"Didn't stop me for shit, that's for sure!" His voice rings with pride. "Five lemons with half a pack of butter and you're good to go."

"That sounds dangerous."

"It was," he croaks. "In a week the goddamned kidneys started giving me all kinds of hell. Finally the missus took me to a private doctor's office -- not a charity, the real thing..."

"Those assholes!" He gets visibly angry. "Those assholes charged me four reál to remove the damn thing. But I came out on top after all!"

"Assholes..."

"But the idiots left me alone in there. Now, I used to teach high school biology. I know what doctors use to preserve dead thingies..." He gets an excited gleam in his eyes.

"Swiped three cans of this blue medicinal stuff from the back room. Threw the snakes out and voilà -- what's left is this beautiful blue stuff." He shakes the bottle. "98.7%, almost pure alcohol."

Snakes or intestinal worms?

"Two I already sold to these fine gentlemen here," he nods at his companions. "But this last one is yours for three reál, if you want it?"

Don't say it.

"No, not really."

"So what do you want then?!"

His tone is aggressive. You're getting on his bad side now.

The alcohol boiling his blood causes the agitation. It burns!

"I think it will prove... useful. Yes."

"Three reál and it's yours, friend. The deal of a lifetime!"

Well done. You got it.

That's a much more reasonable price right there. Makes sense now.

"I thought it was 300 reál."

"Yeah! You thought right! Don't even try to sneak anything past old Rosemary here." The man leans forward. "I got all senses locked on you, buddy-boy. So what will it be?"

"You said it's three reál just now, but at first you asked three-hundred."

"Aye, that's what I said just now... 300 reál. Don't you try to trick me, buddy-boy". He points his finger in your general direction. "Now you want it or not?!"

You acted with great compassion and dignity, not taking advantage of this man. Praise thine honourable heart!

"Of course I do!"

"Three-hundred reál and it's yours, as promised." He shakes the bottle. "Best shit around!"

"No, not really."

"Never mind, I misheard. Three reál is a fair price."

"Aye, the mind..." He pats his temple. "...plays tricks sometimes. Always double-check. So you want it or not?"

"Can I smell it first?"

"Here..." He uncorks the bottle and holds it under your nose. "Be careful, it's extremely flammable. One spark and the entire city of Revachol is wiped off the map."

Feels like someone set a mustard field ablaze right inside your nose, then drenched it in tear gas. Your nose is a singular source of pain... but at the same time you don't remember the last time you felt so alive.

In all fairness, that might be attributed to the retrograde amnesia.

Did I not tell you, bratan? This is it -- this is our party drink. This is what we're having, baby! Please get it for me! (The tie vibrates excitedly around your neck again.)