The moonlight creeping through the patchy fog outlines the vague shape of a man and the crumbling gravestone he leans against. The bit of chin, cheek and forehead, stripes of marble skin and marble stone like a smudge on paper. Blending there shadow merges the bulk of nondescript fabric and broken rock etched with collapsed details. A hand reaches towards the moon to watch the play of light and shadow of the swirling liquid in his glass. The amber chasing itself, a gentle transition of gold, then orange fading into darkness, silhouettes blending into one another then beginning again. He toasts the grave, throws his head back and swallows. Feels it continue the chase in his mouth, down his throat and settle in his stomach. The taste of honeyed fruit followed by the heavier smoothness of vanilla dissolves into tendrils of not entirely pleasant oaky smoke. He savors that unpleasantness rooting in his belly most and it seems most fitting. tonight. He loved his job, the unfettered chaos of it, the brackish grit of it invading his pores clumping under his nails.