One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

A state of dreams once again seeps into the waking world. An eerie looseness and sense of muddy hackles raised into an electrified air begins to quicken the pace of a stagnant calm. The surface tension remains the same, but the waters below start a slow crawl upwards, chasing a bit of mercury. A pregnant pause. The air before a lightning strike. A muscle coil before a pounce. So much potential barely perceptible before realisation. It's got a chew to it like tapioca pudding.