The thing that Bob G. cared about a lot, and would NOT RELAX ABOUT, was the temperature of beer.
They seemed to have an instant rapport which could be explained by blood or just not explained at all.
This was exactly the soapbox I had wanted for almost as long as I'd been riding Amtrak, my chance to speak to the people about our national rail.
Getting through the long winter night.
I'm begging you.
It’s supposed to be good, I keep hearing. So I try to make it good.
How to drink in the desert.
The Myth of Self-Care & The Power of a 100 IBU 20-Ounce Therapist
Sometimes, the only thing that makes sense is to gulp down a thing that tastes unfamiliar, even unpleasant, until a reddish haze develops around the corners of your consciousness and everything starts to soften a bit.