The sweet brown liquid swirls hypnotically in the bottom of the glass. An intoxicating lava lamp of 80-proof goodness. No less than a swig remains. But this man doesn’t swig. He sips, preferring to let the spirit linger on his tongue, appreciating both its full body and complex palate.
The ambient hum of the dark room soothes. Our waitress is young and beautiful and attentive. This is as cozy as you can be in public. Vegas feels safe on a Tuesday night in August.
There are stares, of course, but he feels more insulated than anything.
We are at the back of the restaurant. The dim luminescence of the room and rhythmic flicker from the solitary candle on the table—an unexpected mashup of accidentally good lighting—frame his glowing face.
He stares at his phone. A text comes from Khloe. He replies then apologizes. Tucks his phone away.
We order another round.
“Where do you call home now?” I ask.
“My heart,” he says. “Wherever my heart is and I can have peace of mind. Life can seem nomadic because I don’t know if I’m embr ...
Read Full Article at Bleacher Report - NBA
Article written by Chris Palmer
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