Snippet #1876773

Lewis stared at the room for the hundredth time and sighed again with disgust. This was the part of the job he hated. He hated deceiving people but also knew this step was very necessary. He went back to pouring the cheap alcohol in to the the expensive bottles. At times he wondered whether he was called to pour drinks due to his extensive collection of empty bottles which were reused every time. Someone notified him that the kegs had been placed in the house not that he cared about kegs as it didn't involve him, it just meant he had to hurry up. After carefully placing his bottles into wooden crates that he had boarded up himself to move bottles, he moved carefully through the clutter of empty bottles and funnels on the floor.
He went downstairs after locking the door to the room of bottles as he knew broken glass would carpet the room if a small group of drunks were to enter that room, placed his crates behind a pseudo counter that he took with to every party. Taking a seat behind his counter he cracked his knuckles and set up plastic cups on his counter ready to mix some drinks. Even though most people would come to him to do shots he awaited patiently for someone to request a drink that required mixing. Looking at the crowd he longed for a drink but knew the pain that followed that one drink. He poured himself a shot of orange juice and downed it with salt and lemon to calm his cravings. Knowing it was going to be a long night and constantly reminded himself the answer to the question why he subjected himself to this form of self-torture he waited for his fellow 'patrons' to order drinks.