It stung her muscles and hurt so good. She leaned back into her chair and felt the neck bones crack. The wine travelled through her like a gypsy on a quest. It found a home in every nook and cranny of her tired limbs, her long days, her stifled laughter then packed up and moved on to her dreams. It spoke to her from within. It told her old memories of a time when wine was for recreation not medication.
She struggled to remember.