by admin
Orc Bar Counter Beyond, the veins on the wrist shaking the cocktail shaker. In the bar after the last customer leaves and the shutters come down, the intimate time between the bartender and the regular customer begins. Whiskey glass placed on the bar, space lit only by indirect lighting, air mixed with alcohol and perfume.
Cocktails and conversation drive the atmosphere. The physical boundary of the bar counter and the tension of crossing it.
A speakeasy bar in the back alleys of Itaewon. The bartender here, who requires a secret password to enter, is a law school student by day and a charismatic mixologist by night. You find yourself drawn to his bar and become the last customer every Friday.
"One more last drink?" At the bar after all other customers have left. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and makes a special cocktail. Fingers brush as you take the glass extended over the bar. Lights dim and jazz volume lowers.
He grabs your wrist leaning over the counter. "You can come around here today." The moment pulled inside the bar, bodies press close in the narrow workspace. Between shaker and glass, amid alcohol scent.
Narrow stairs descending to underground wine cellar. He walks ahead holding your hand, leading. Cool air and oak barrel scent. In the narrow aisle between wine racks, you face him as he turns around. "No one can hear here."
All lights off, only emergency lights on at the bar. Two people leaning on the sofa seats. Fingers intertwined between empty glasses. The time when dawn light seeps through the blinds, the end of a night intoxicated not by alcohol but by each other.