popping the cork carefully â only racing drivers and children were stupid enough to spray good champagne everywhere, "always trying to be the best at something."
  "They'd say the same about us."
  "I guess." Tom poured champagne slowly into his tumbler, trying not to let it flow over the brim.
  "Champagne in a hi-ball, damn but you've got class."
  "I'm thirsty, would have taken a tankard if they'd had one."
  "Or just a couple of straws?"
  "Now there's a thought."
  He took a mouthful of his drink and grimaced. "Like fizzy water. Pretend champagne."
  "Bar sure is long though."
  "This is true." Tom got up and walked around the bar to see what else he could find.
  "It'll all be the same you know," said Elise, pulling a cigarette from the pocket of her raincoat. "Light?"
  He stared at her for a moment, tempted to ignore her. But he could never ignore Elise, even if she was only a figment of his imagination. He pulled out his Zippo and lit her illusory cigarette before resuming his hunt for a drink that might hit the spot.
  "Ever the optimist?" she asked, and damn if he couldn't smell the smoke of her cigarette as she exhaled over the bar.
  "Just being thorough," he replied, opening a bottle of pink champagne with a lot less care than he had the first bottle. The cork popped, ricocheting off the concealed lighting and he dipped his mouth to the overflowing froth as if it were a water fountain. "This place is made by people that just don't have enough imagination," he decided.
  "If you'd dreamed it people could have got high just by licking the bar," Elise noted. "The goddamned mints would have had an alcoholic content."
  "Damn right, that's what a bar's there for after all. I'm a functionalist."
  "A man who thirsts."
  Tom looked at Elise over the neck of the champagne bottle, analysing her face for a clue as to where she was going with this, the last thing he needed right now â particularly from a ghost â was a dressing down for his alcoholism. "Yes," he admitted, saying no more in case it encouraged her in some way.
  "Those thirsts aren't getting quenched are they honey?" said Elise. "You think that might have consequences as time rolls on?"
  "I guess I'll crave more, nothing I can't handle."
  "You sure?" Elise gave him a gentle smile. "Honey, you can dress it up however you want to but a man that gets through two bottles of vodka a day â without even trying â is an alcoholic, you do know that don't you?"
  This was the conversation Tom didn't want to have, certainly not with Elise â and in the back of his head a small part of him despaired that he was already thinking of this figment as the real thing.
  "I'm not being judgmental honey," she said, stubbing out her cigarette. "We all have our problems, our addictions and hangups. I'm dead⦠now that's a cross to bear, I can tell you." She tugged at a couple of wisps of her red hair. "And still suffering from split ends⦠My point was that unless you get yourself a proper drink or some kind of medication you're heading for a downturn, baby."
  "I'll be okay." Tom reached for a cigarette himself, all the easier to lie behind.
  "You're talking to dead people, babe," said Elise, "I don't think 'okay' ever really covers that."
Â
7.
Â
Build not break. Build not break. Build not break.
  It is very quiet here, Sophie thinks. Very quiet is good. But then she is inside her own head and if you can't like it there then where can you?
  This is not always true. Many people do not like it inside their own heads. That is because their heads are untidy places. It is where they hide everything that they do not want to see. Sophie is not like that. As soon as things get untidy inside her head she takes the time to tidy it. She sits and she hums. She
  "They'd say the same about us."
  "I guess." Tom poured champagne slowly into his tumbler, trying not to let it flow over the brim.
  "Champagne in a hi-ball, damn but you've got class."
  "I'm thirsty, would have taken a tankard if they'd had one."
  "Or just a couple of straws?"
  "Now there's a thought."
  He took a mouthful of his drink and grimaced. "Like fizzy water. Pretend champagne."
  "Bar sure is long though."
  "This is true." Tom got up and walked around the bar to see what else he could find.
  "It'll all be the same you know," said Elise, pulling a cigarette from the pocket of her raincoat. "Light?"
  He stared at her for a moment, tempted to ignore her. But he could never ignore Elise, even if she was only a figment of his imagination. He pulled out his Zippo and lit her illusory cigarette before resuming his hunt for a drink that might hit the spot.
  "Ever the optimist?" she asked, and damn if he couldn't smell the smoke of her cigarette as she exhaled over the bar.
  "Just being thorough," he replied, opening a bottle of pink champagne with a lot less care than he had the first bottle. The cork popped, ricocheting off the concealed lighting and he dipped his mouth to the overflowing froth as if it were a water fountain. "This place is made by people that just don't have enough imagination," he decided.
  "If you'd dreamed it people could have got high just by licking the bar," Elise noted. "The goddamned mints would have had an alcoholic content."
  "Damn right, that's what a bar's there for after all. I'm a functionalist."
  "A man who thirsts."
  Tom looked at Elise over the neck of the champagne bottle, analysing her face for a clue as to where she was going with this, the last thing he needed right now â particularly from a ghost â was a dressing down for his alcoholism. "Yes," he admitted, saying no more in case it encouraged her in some way.
  "Those thirsts aren't getting quenched are they honey?" said Elise. "You think that might have consequences as time rolls on?"
  "I guess I'll crave more, nothing I can't handle."
  "You sure?" Elise gave him a gentle smile. "Honey, you can dress it up however you want to but a man that gets through two bottles of vodka a day â without even trying â is an alcoholic, you do know that don't you?"
  This was the conversation Tom didn't want to have, certainly not with Elise â and in the back of his head a small part of him despaired that he was already thinking of this figment as the real thing.
  "I'm not being judgmental honey," she said, stubbing out her cigarette. "We all have our problems, our addictions and hangups. I'm dead⦠now that's a cross to bear, I can tell you." She tugged at a couple of wisps of her red hair. "And still suffering from split ends⦠My point was that unless you get yourself a proper drink or some kind of medication you're heading for a downturn, baby."
  "I'll be okay." Tom reached for a cigarette himself, all the easier to lie behind.
  "You're talking to dead people, babe," said Elise, "I don't think 'okay' ever really covers that."
Â
7.
Â
Build not break. Build not break. Build not break.
  It is very quiet here, Sophie thinks. Very quiet is good. But then she is inside her own head and if you can't like it there then where can you?
  This is not always true. Many people do not like it inside their own heads. That is because their heads are untidy places. It is where they hide everything that they do not want to see. Sophie is not like that. As soon as things get untidy inside her head she takes the time to tidy it. She sits and she hums. She
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