in bars and clubs i look at every person as if they are a person-shaped clear glass container, filled with whatever it is they are drinking. as they sip and play and converse and laugh, they splash about on the inside, glittery and effervescent, ice cubes clinking melodies. they are the liquid gemstones of liquor. they are the dark sweet syrup of wine. when they get up to dance, beer bubbles escape from their heads like party balloons. margarita salt flies over the dance floor like new year’s confetti.i watch the whole evening pass through the viewfinder of my camera, alone at the table with my tripod. the sad fact is that without drinking i feel out of place. invisible. nonexistent.