5:10

Rowan pondered the the ice-cold glass of water slowly dripping condensation on the old wood table. She always kept a mug or two in the freezer so that on those evenings she needed an extra cold drink she could grab a beer from the fridge and pour it into a frosty mug. She enjoyed watching the ice on the glasses slowly melt, and her furniture was nothing she ever worried about. A few more rings or stains just added more character.

This particular beer was a pale ale she had picked up on the way home. She’d never had it before but the scruffy older guy behind the counter at the liquor store had recommended it. The store was fairly well known for its beer selection, so she took his advice and picked up four 500-ml bottles. It had been a good pour and she’d nailed the head; it had just barely dribbled over the rim, the excess quickly turning to half frozen beer slush and adding to the overall pleasant esthetic.

It was at these times, with a cold beer in front of her that she had not yet tasted, that she always felt in the moment. The moment before the next moment, the next phase, and she like to savour them. The anticipation of the ice-cold mug with its frosty contents soon to be quelling her thirst. But she knew that the instant she grabbed the mug, the picture would change and would become irretrievable. That wasn’t a bad thing, but somehow she always felt melancholy at moments like this. By reaching for that thing that would satisfy her, she would change that little piece of the world. Forever.

She sighed and leaned back with one more appreciative glance at the slowly pooling liquid. And then she reached out and drank.