A certain Ron gives me a bottle of Maker's Mark. This very generous fellow has heard about the terrible booze I've been subjecting myself to, and offers this gift as a small condolence and aid. You see, Ron is a very compassionate man. Rotund, good-humored and always given to asking about your life and family. He comes from South Carolina, his wife from Bulgaria. Consider yourself blessed to find good men handing out whisky.
I enjoy a generous pour over a cube of ice after coming home from Parish Council (a subject in and of itself worthy of not a few words). My wife and child leave tomorrow. Images of freedom and images of loneliness cross through my mind and I wonder if they're the same damn thing.
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