In a dimly lit bar, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling, a young model sauntered up to the counter, all leg and ambition, eyes sparkling with wild requests. She wanted something to jolt her awake and slam her down like a punch from a lover gone rogue — "Wake me up and fuck me up" she said. Dick Bradsell, with a worn-out charm and a cigarette danging from his lips, conjured up a concoction that would ignite the night—an espresso martini.
He tossed espresso, vodka, coffee liqueur, and sugar into a shaker, shaking it like the burdens of the world. It came out frothy, smooth, that bittersweet cascade of chaos and cream, the kind of drink that could resurrect the dead or damn the living.
And as he slid it across the bar, he adorned it with three coffee beans, a haphazard nod to health, wealth, and the pursuit of happiness.
