By Leila Molitor

They walk in, and I swear to God, they’re still wearing sunglasses and a half-buttoned shirt, even though it’s forty-two degrees outside. They carry July energy in December and optimism in every goddamn situation. They are the human embodiment of a Summer Friday that runs two hours past the closing bell. They look at the bartender and instead of ordering, they just point at the color orange and smile like they're sharing an inside joke with the universe. They act like they’re waiting for a yacht to pick them up outside, not a battered Corolla Uber.

The lie they tell themselves? That this drink is refreshing and light. It’s not. It tastes like someone spilled a cheap orange lollipop into a glass of Prosecco. They are delusional, believing their bright, bubbly choice somehow cancels out the fact that they are emotionally unavailable and physically incapable of making a reservation on time. They think they’re breezy, effortless, and sophisticated, but they’re really just committed to the aesthetic of being in-between things—in between jobs, in between flights, in between telling you the truth.

Spritz one: They’re trying to use Italian words they just learned on Duolingo. “Molto bene!” Shut up. Spritz two: They’re offering to plan a last-minute trip to Tulum next week, then sending you a perfect, curated list of the best patios in the West Village, even though they’re bailing on tonight's dinner. Spritz three: Chaos. They’re now crying softly over an old playlist, scrolling through photos of a European summer they took three years ago, and trying to convince the DJ to play some deep-cut disco track that no one has heard since 1998.

Peak chaos is when they suddenly jump up and start taking aggressive photos of the drink itself, not the company. They’re texting an ex that they "just realized how beautiful life is" while simultaneously confusing the coat check with their therapist. They’re late to everything but fun once they land, which is why we keep them around. But don’t ask them to commit to anything past this specific patio session. You love them, sure, but you also know they’ll be hungover and ghosting your group chat by 10 AM.