A wine glass on three metal coasters. Misaligned coasters. Square coasters. Bronze coasters. Matching coasters.
They each are engraved with a scene of flowers. Sunflowers. These matching, engraved surfaces are pretty, but make the coasters hard to maneuver into perfect, stacking alignment.
The coasters sit, in their wonky, pinwheel relationship, under the wine glass but on top of a folder paper towel, also folded in slightly unequal and mismatched angles.
The paper towel is of unknown age, but even with its almost bearable, not quite perfect shape, it keeps the metal coasters from making a completely unbearable scraping noise when they’re slid from one side of the glass-topped table to the other.
The wine glass is clearly a red-wine glass. However, this evening it is holding an inch’s worth of Bordeaux Rose mixed with Peach Citrus Fresca in the bottom of its bowl. There are fingerprints on its belly and lip marks on its rim. What’s left of the beverage that it holds is a light-pink, peachy color and the last vestiges of its sparkling effervescence exist in a few tiny bubbles right above where the stem of the glass appears to begin.
The glass is perfectly what it is. The liquid it hugs is as level as a quiet sea before a storm.
The last sip of what started off as a whole bottle and two cans, swirled together, make up for all of the inequities that support the whole scene.