Christmas was a riot, plenty of regulars present meant alcohol all around and midnight shift was a breeze. Ritz and Bobby got wind of how much j’adore their matching chains and left the pair for me as a Christmas gift, which was of course broken by the end of the night.
A debauched mess, me, rushing to the bar hollering “DOM PERIGNON! I NEED A BOTTLE OF DEEPEE PLEASE! DOM PERIGNON, JOHNNY!!!”, a trail of order chits, credit cards and tips in my wake. Then, as I pivot wildly, welding the champagne like a truncheon, my fiery centrifugal momentum is halted by a hand on my chins. A vision of God’s gift comes into sight, smouldering ; Jack is in the club!
Thence I suffered my first emotional upheaval of 2007. Look, I cannot help it if my feelings are wired directly to my eyes and Jack is the poster child for beauty so effusive it should be outlawed.
