Memories and Tastebuds

The Jack in my drink swirls around in its' icy concoction, making my blood race just a little faster and the tip of my tongue impatient with profanity. It tastes like LA to me. All the dirt and the grim, all the blaring noises and opaque people. One knows that it really isn't good for you but you can't help how good it tastes, and how easily it goes down, swallow after swallow. There'll be time enough for gut aches and regrets tomorrow.