The room was overly chilly when I hobbled to the counter to pour myself a cup.
Angrily dragging my feet to the employee kitchen, I pour the remaining tea from my cup into the sink and leave.
As we climb the mountainside to the Crescent Hotel, I feel a hand touch my forearm, which makes the tears pour over.
Just thinking about all those people over all those months who never smiled and rarely even spoke to me made me pour more wine into my glass.
Guilt returns and tears are poised, ready to pour out like marathon runners.
The battery on my phone is dead, so I plug it in to recharge while I pour my coffee and grab a yogurt.
His hands are shaking so badly I had to pour the wine down his throat myself.
He tightened his arm about her shoulders, and she was glad for the excuse to shrug him off when she reached the refreshments and could pour herself a drink from one of the pitchers.
I curled up in a ball on my bed and let the tears pour from me until I succumbed to sleep.
Her mouth tasted bitter again and she turned back to the table to pour herself another glass of water.
