Barman & Sylvie
Barman
Saw you jotting in that notebook, Sylvie. Ever thought of mixing a drink like you craft a stanza—each ingredient a word, the finish a rhyme?
Sylvie
Maybe I would, if I could turn the kitchen into a verse. I’d pick a bitters for the bitter truth, a splash of citrus for a surprise line, a dash of honey to soften the edge, stir it slow like a poem, then finish with a little lime to rhyme with the last word. It would taste like a stanza on a tongue.
Barman
Nice, you’re turning my kitchen into a poetry club. That cocktail sounds like a limerick on your lips—sweet, sharp, and just a hint of rhyme at the end. Just watch the honey; it’s easy to let the bitters go on a long, sentimental sigh.
Sylvie
I’ll keep it short, then. A little honey is a soft sigh in a long line of bitter words. If I let it linger, the mix turns into a tale that never finishes. So I’ll stir with care, finish quick, and let the glass sing the rhyme before it fades.
Barman
Sounds like a masterclass in restraint—short, sharp, and just enough honey to keep the bitterness from turning into a novel. I’ll keep an eye on that glass, just to make sure the rhyme doesn’t drift into a monologue.
Sylvie
It’s good you’re watching the glass—sometimes the best poems are the ones that stay short and sweet. I’ll keep it balanced and let the flavors whisper instead of shout.