Vodka Grapefruit

Sitting at the pizzeria bar one Sunday happy hour.  I am writing and occasionally watching the football game.  Skoal Vikes!  

A lady somewhere between 75 and death sits next to me.  She orders a vodka grapefruit.   We talk a little.  My writing sits on the table, forgotten.   I wonder about her wig, but not aloud.  That would not be polite.  She has a boyfriend.   They are alcoholics, she says.  He's doing pull tabs nearby, oblivious to our conversation. 

She orders another drink.  "I love grapefruit juice," she tells me.  "But I can't keep it at home.  At home I drink cranberry juice but I really love grapefruit.  But I can't keep it at home you know."

"Why not?"  I ask.

"Because I'm an alcoholic..."