War and Peace

It has been said:
Prostitutes are merchants of sex while bartenders are merchants of friendship.

Therefore it is not surprising that I would feel a tinge of guilt to occasionally indulge sitting alone at a bar full of strangers, as whiffs of alcohol mixed with various herbal and fruity aperitifs from across the world infiltrate my senses.

This is freedom.

True freedom is not freedom from doing, but freedom from being.
Here, in front of a merchant, I don't have to be anything; even the things that I want to be.
Our expectations are clear, and our motives so very consistent.

He smiles, he talks.
I smile, I drink.

Four tourists from Pennsylvania were enthralled by his story of inventing a drink for a woman who requested a "Jane Austen novel in a glass".
We all shared a good laugh.

What better opportunity to make a ridiculous request without seeming utterly ridiculous?

"Can you make me a 'War and Peace'?"
"Sure."

Some vodka on the rocks, some campari, some peach aperitif and some other bottles that I could not spy the name of. Stirred, not shaken. Topped off with an orange peel heated by a lighter, and the coup de grace of a fire burst.

"Some cannon fire," he smiled, "for the war."

I smiled back.  
"And to peace!" I raised my glass to the tourists. They replied in kind.

Peace is quite the rare luxury nowadays, but I find it here:
Among strangers and a merchant.