#joseph oconnor

Joseph O’Connor goes up to the counter and orders two bottom-shelf whiskeys. He pours one over his shoulder (“For the dead,” he says). He downs the next one in one gulp and sulks off into the cold, dark night, leaving a tattered notebook behind on the counter. “Did he tea stain this whole thing?” asks one barista. “It’s 2016,” says another. “There was no reason for him to burn the edges of the pages, either.”