The pleasant thing occurs some 30-60 seconds after one has set his drink down: suddenly there is that unexpected warming in the chest, the joy of a satisfied heart. Why does it take so long? Why does it wait until the glass is back on the table?
It's a sharp, peppery bourbon that's more likely to do this to a man. Usually these bourbons are cheap and terrible. Is this effect the condolence, then, for having imbibed such a difficult thing?
On the couch again, early evening. E.W. and I, and some terribly annoying classical music. I pick up a hagiography of sorts to distract myself. I wonder what my unexpected drinking guest, St. Gregory, is thinking of me. Did my invitation pull him away from some higher revelry among the divines? Is there a higher revelry than this?
I feel only a little guilt for my impious questions.
No comments:
Post a Comment