A week without beer

Bad knee, no brew The keg of Foothills’ Torch Pilsner swayed gently in its icy bed of the rubber trash can. Smiling drinkers moseyed up to the tap to refill their plastic, red cups while I watched. Just stared longingly, regretfully. Hearkened back to the days of being too small to ride the roller coasters the bigger kids enjoyed.

Two days later, more grilling and chilling. A growler of Triangle’s Lambic arrived at my table. But like the child who doesn’t have enough money to purchase candy, face pressed against the glass storefront gazing at the privileged masses.

I’m sidelined from plenty of action after knee surgery. First week of powerful painkilling meds don’t mix with alcohol. Really didn’t think I’d miss it so much, as I’m normally just a one-beer-a-day guy. It’s probably less of a beer addiction and more of a larger exclusion metaphor. Either way, when I do break out of my week long prohibition, the perfect selection to deliver me back to the land of barley, hops and hope: Delirium Tremens.

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