Maxwell Drake: Artisan Extraordinaire.

There is an aire of pomposity, but it isn't mine. I meander through the throng of super chic visitors, reaching quickly for the bar. He taps twice with his middle and pointer finger. The bartender nods and grabs a rocks glass and she throws two fingers of whiskey over three cubes of ice. She smiles as the drink slides into my hand and I wink. She looks away and blushes. She makes this face that makes me smile as I turn and bite at the fingers in my glass. Another trudging through the crowd. On the other side, I lean against a pillar, which holding up nothing, and stare past some splotchy piece. I must have been there for too long, because a crowd had gathered behind me and were in faux awe of the piece, as they must have believed I was actually in awe. I turn around and in surprise I jumped a bit as the crowd hinged on any word I may say. I raise my glass and nod once, and wander off.