Summer Fact: There is nothing a cold imported beer cannot fix!
City buzz, human streaks, foreign language, good company and the bottle looks me dead square in the eyes.
The sight lifts me from sardine packed streets, to the spacious french alps.
From muffler fumes, to the brisk cool and fresh mountain air.
From fatigue to endless energy.
The memory:
Under my bed
the trinity did lay.
A gift for my old man
in the U.S.A.
The establishment
stole it.
consumed it.
denied it.
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