Information

wine time
Legacy Name: WineTime

The Storm Darkonite
Owner: goodboy

Age: 5 years, 7 months, 3 weeks

Born: October 1st, 2018

Adopted: 5 years, 7 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: October 1st, 2018

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

• Level: 17
   
• Strength: 19
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 33
   
• Books Read: 27
• Food Eaten: 2
• Job: Paparazzi

story

every time lightning strikes i take a sip. 🍷

the glass in my hand rotates with a flick of my wrist. the wine, a stark red full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon. a little on the heavy side. not my usual choice, but it was a house-warming gift.

wine is best served with various cheeses, an array of cold-cut meats and a dangerous storm, i impart the old proverb, wisely. and a puppy on the lap is also a plus, i admit as the body of a young Laskie lands in my lap, despite it punching me in the gut on impact. Bolognese, named after the sauce she once jumped into, spilled all over the countertop and up the wall, stares up at me with needy eyes. i choose a cube of cheddar and pay the cheese tax. it’s overdue, and i’d rather not be in debt.

my eyes float to my comfortable surroundings. it’s a small apartment with a modest balcony, too small to fit a drying rack, but big enough to fit a girl in her thirties, a facebook marketplace chair, a milk crate (side-table), and a labyrinth of easy-to-care-for plants, though still dying. another lightning strike. another sip. 🍷

Bolognese is still eyeing the cheeseboard. i only notice when i feel a light but consistent pawing at my bosom. a fleeting thought of ‘how much cheese is unhealthy for dogs?’ has me reaching for my phone, but a sizeable piece of monterey jack takes me out of the present (her cheese farts are probably a good enough indication anyway). the white cube speckled with jalapeno pieces crumbles at my touch. i squeeze it momentarily before depositing it deep down into my gullet. i chase it with a swig of red. there’s just something about slowly ingesting fermented grapes while a thunderstorm rages on outside, i'm learning at the minute, that fills me with an illustrious warmth, one that trickles down my legs, and pools at my ankles.

it takes a solid five minutes or so for me to realise that the pleasant feeling was, in fact, puppy pee.

my poor little spaghetti girl didn’t want cheese. her bladder was bursting, and i was too smitten by the atmosphere, flirting with the warm red that now stained my two front teeth to notice.

on the way out, i hop and trip through the apartment, removing my soaked sweatpants and depositing them into the washing machine as i do. a buttcheek collides with the dishwasher buttons and it turns on without my knowing.

the neighbours don’t bat an eye from their boujee apartments above when they see me in the garden. they’ve become accustomed to my summer rituals and, like the many before them, find peace in watching me standing there, half-naked, arms akimbo, wine glass held tight between my thighs, as my dog wees on the concrete beside my feet because the wet grass is too cold on her belly. but it’s fine. like the puppy urine running down my legs, the rain washes everything away.

a man, possibly in his forties, watches me from his office window - maybe dreaming of a life where he, too, is as dangerously carefree as i, standing drenched by both mother nature and piss, positively drunk on a tuesday night with work in the a.m., dishes unwashed, calls unreturned and messages unreplied to. waiting on no-one but myself.

i lock eyes with him as lightning strikes.

i take a sip.🍷

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