Oh Ye Of Little Faith…

August 6, 2011 at 12:25 pm (Drunk and disorderly)

The neighborhood grocer’s eyes light up when he sees me coming. I rarely shop there; I spend too much time in quickie-marts as it is, and there’s usually nothing he has that I can’t get cheaper elsewhere.

Except booze.

Not the IPAs and hefeweizens, of which he has plenty. We’re talking skid row booze, Four Loko. Tilt. Steel Reserve. And my personal favorite, Olde English 800.

When I stopped in for Clairissa’s Four Loko a while back, he’d inquired about my lack of thirst. “I haven’t seen you in here in ages. Mad at me?”

“Nah, just behaving.” At that time, it had been about three years. When I went off the wagon, his supply of Olde English was the first to go. The benders don’t last like they used to. It’s been a couple months and I’m feeling strong.

The neighborhood grocer thinks differently. It appears he’s hedging his bets against my ongoing sobriety. It’s a good thing beer has a longer shelf life than milk.

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