Gimme my Steel Reserve

It’s stupid but this was and remains my drink. I’m the kind to drink it on a stoop or under a bridge.

It used to be Colt .45. Caught some racist flak for that in Philly years ago. “Ain’t that what the jigs drink?” I suppose, but I don’t care. It works every time.

This is my bad mindset: I identify with the protagonist in 40 oz. to Freedom.

Probably a bad idea for someone on an anti-convulsive, lithum, and an anti-psychotic. I’ll think about that tomorrow.

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