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Remember that night after that hellacious day when the internet was wonky, the network was down, and you couldn’t finish the month-end reports, and the Swiss logistics company was screaming bloody murder for commercial invoices which you already provided – four times, and Myles in HR wanted the D70/155 that you owed him on the new hire who probably won’t last since marketing people need to market and not just swipe away at Tinder all day long, and the VP of Finance practically had an aneurysm because the budgets on the buildout of the new warehouse were only two weeks late, but is it your fault Construction gave you the runaround on the numbers citing supply chain issues, and all you wanted was to go home and collapse with a small shot of something to dull the pain of an asinine day except you realized that there is no small shots of anything at home because you hadn’t been to the market in weeks or picked up the dry cleaning, so you stopped into the local bar hoping to see no one you know, get a quick one or even a simple cocktail then get home to collapse for 10-12 hours if there is a God before it all started again, and by the grace of that same God, it was a new bartender who didn’t know you from Adam though the piercings and tattoos made you think she might have hacked up Adam and left him in a dumpster behind the Esso on the causeway but the Old Fashioned was delightful and Nikki, which probably wasn’t her real name, was attentive enough when she swapped out the soaked cocktail napkin the glass sweated quickly on for a clean, crisp one except that there was a phone number written on it along one edge with excellent legibility; it had to be Nikki’s number, right?, since there was no one else around, but before you could get out a word to…hell, what were you going to say to her, dumbass…she barely nodded to her left and said, “it’s hers”, and went back to her duties while you looked down the bar to “her” drinking a glass of something bubbly and wiping tears from her eyes when Nikki interjected, “Call her. She’s my friend. She could use another friend”, and with that your phone buzzed on the bar top which was set to remind you it was time to take the cholesterol busting statin which also jolted you back to your own reality and away from “her” down at the end of the bar who mysteriously now was sitting next to you rather a bit close which didn’t allow you to turn easily towards her but if you could have, you would have seen the purple bruises on her neck?…

Um, yeah…so that place we’ve all been to got us thinking about those all-nighters that should be long forgotten and never spoken again about which led us to watching After Hours, the 1985 Martin Scorsese movie starring Griffin Dunne, which may be the best all-nighter flick ever which leads us to another episode of One Show, One Drink on the Boozedancing Entertainment Network which never sleeps even if the intranet is down and the elevator is out of order again. After Hours is the show, and Ailsa Bay Sweet Smoke 1.2 Single Malt is the drink.

Download it today, grab a drink, take notes on your own cocktail napkin, and don’t forget to take your meds. And DON’T buy her a drink!