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“A great Russian writer once wrote that happy families are all alike, while each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Like all oft-quoted lines from bona fide geniuses, it remains a truism beyond question and yet from the moment I first read that famous first line I had my doubts. Raised, as I was, in an unhappy family that shattered apart before I was out of the single digits, I always believed the exotic and differentiated lives were lived on the other side of the dividing line between happy and not. The happy families I knew seemed to burst with possibilities; the permutations of their varied interests and eccentricities, the diversity of their achievements, the myriad of strange traditions and customs culled from their everyday happiness seemed unending.”
― William Lashner, Past Due

“We ended up at the bar of a little steak house I had never noticed before. It was one of those places that seemed to have slipped through time unscathed and walking into it was like walking into a different decade. Dark walls, leather booths, thick slabs of beef, ashtrays on every table. The man behind the bar in a red plaid vest had the open, sad face of an old-time baseball player.

“Mrs. S.,� he said in a thick nasally voice when we sat on the red-leather stools. “Terrific as always to see you.�

“Rocco, this is Victor,� she said. “Victor and I are in desperate need of a drink. I’ll have the usual. What will it be for you, Victor?�

“Do you make a sea breeze?� I said.

Rocco looked at me like I had spit on the bar.

I got the message. This was a serious place for serious drinking, a leftover from an era when the cocktail hour was a sacred thing, when a man was defined by his drink and no man wanted to be defined by something as sweet and inconsequential as a sea breeze. Kids in short pants with ball gloves sticking out of their pockets drank soda pop, men drank like men.

“What’s she having?� I said, nodding at my companion.

“A manhattan.�

“What’s that?�

“Whiskey, bitters, sweet vermouth.�

“And a cherry,� said Alura Straczynski. “Mustn’t forget the cherry.�

“No, Mrs. S.,â€� said Rocco. “I wouldn’t forget your cherry.”
― William Lashner, Past Due

“She was a harridan, Kimberly. Wasn’t it obvious? She was one of those women who numb their bitter resentment with alcohol and make everyone close to them pay for all the lives they failed to lead, all the goals they failed to achieve. She’s a cold-blooded killer.â€� “You sound like you have issues, V.â€� “I know the type,â€� I said, and as I said it I remembered those gin bottles, lined up like doomed soldiers standing at attention in their ranks. But something bugged me about those bottles, something different from the bouquets of glass I used to find around the house when my mother still lived at home. “Is that it?â€� Kimberly said, pointing out her window. My mind snapped back”
― William Lashner, Past Due