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Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-Auld_Lang_Syne-by_Stephen_G_Eoannou.docx

“Does it smell like five grand?” Griff asked. The shorter man shrugged. “I’m no wine expert.” “How do you know how much it’s worth then?” “Bill’s cousin is a sommelier. He told us.” Griff raised his glass and copied the shorter man. He swirled the wine, breathed it in, then held it to the light as if he knew what to look for. No one tasted the wine. “Maybe you should call your friend and see if he’s coming,” the bartender said, looking past them to the window again. “The weather’s getting pretty bad. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to stay open. I got a long drive home.” The last song on the CD ended, and while the player shuffled to the next disc and searched for the next song, the restaurant was completely silent. “Bill’s not coming,” the taller man finally said, his voice low as he studied his tanned hands. The music started again. “Coventry Carol.” “What do you mean?” Griff asked, looking to the empty stool and the full glass of wine in front of it. The shorter man cleared his throat. “Bill had to go to New York once a month for company meetings. He always looked forward to it, coming in from the field and seeing everyone. He was on the 105th floor of the South Tower when the plane hit.” “He was able to get a call through to his wife. Diane stayed


Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-Auld_Lang_Syne-by_Stephen_G_Eoannou.docx
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