We drink. We live. We fear the end, lamenting the quickness of the passage of time, yet bitch about every petty moment as it goes by. We came from a place very far from here, a corner of the US many don’t realize is actually part of it, and now dwell in corner of it’s largest city, where “daily grind” is a gross understatement. These folks live to grind, and know precious little else. The fluids help. They give us a momentary respite from our most grievous sin of taking ourselves seriously. They help us to just take it all in, and smile and nod.
Almost 80 years after Volstead’s repeal, we’ve made a few baby steps back and forth. Our relationship with ourselves is as tenuous and ever. And as much as we love the effect of “taking the edge off” and “letting our hair down”, the personal face time can be heavy for us.
But we keep walking, breathing, drinking, hanging. And the stories of life unfold. Great stories.