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Taste of Regret

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Tequila, thinking he Cisco. He squinted into the dim bar mirror, a sad smile on his face, disillusioned with a gap between his teeth. The reflection promised a swagger he didn’t own, a music mogul’s charm that was just a drunken affectation. With each burning sip, the fantasy solidified—until a new face walked in, and the tequila haze lifted, leaving him alone with nothing but the clink of glass and the sharp taste of regret.

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