Today's OneWord: Bourbon

The bartender filled my glass half full with bourbon before letting the apple juice cover it. It was murky like Los Angeles smog, but more fit to drink and easier on the stomach. I watched as she sprinkled cinnamon on top, too. It was called a Broken Leg, she said. I smirked at the idea of offering someone a Broken Leg. Hell, that was tempting, come to think of it, given my current mood and the way the burly men, the ones with curly hair and leather jackets sitting at the corner table, kept leering at me.