The man picked up the tumbler, downed the whiskey in one swallow and slammed the glass on the glistening mahogany. He shuddered. “That did the trick.” His black eyes moved to the bartender, shoving his glass towards him. “But that ain’t Jameson’s, ace. Don’t try that again.”
...that, at a certain age, a birthday is no longer a celebration of your existence but another notch in the ‘Fuck off, Death’ belt.