Dry as a bone. I run from table to table, gathering blisters as I go. Ah, what I would trade for a drink! The Lord warned us of taking the whole world in exchange for our soul. The whole world, Lord? I don't want the whole world! Just a drop of earthly pleasure is enough to make me want to cast off the chains of this dreary religion and enjoy the broad road to perdition.
Yet something holds me back.
I began receiving, by the way, the Whiskey Advocate. This, a magazine for whiskey connoisseurs of the bourgeoisie class. I like to look at the pictures and am thankful to the unnamed gentleman who signed me up.
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