I pick up the bottle of Campari by the neck, and the weight of it in my hand feels... good. Like something that would be nice to smash on a wall or a chair, to swing at the head of an offensive person, to chuck at a window or a car.
"When you pick up a bottle, to you ever get the urge to just smash it?" I ask Katie as I place it back on the bar cart.
"I have to fight off the urge to break a bottle every time I pick one up," she replies with an intense grin.
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