Bakon: revisited

The bottle lay frosted in the freezer. I grasped it with one hand, my left, and removed it, placing it gently on the wooden counter. Fumbling with the plastic packaging on the rim, I wondered what was in store for me. Will it smell like heaven in a bottle?

I slowly removed the cap, remembering my first alcoholic beverage... A beer with family in an Irish pub years ago... It seems like only this morning; fresh in my mind. I sniff the air and visions of pork waft before me. My brother suggests chasers, I call him a "fag-ette" and quietly, "yea..."

The shots were poured and the sippy cups of our childhood were filled with cherry-limeade.





Very little burn, the taste of "liquid breakfast" in our bellies, a happy expression on our faces.

"Well that'll get me drunk," I say, "a few more of those and I'm gone."

'Bakon' vodka - a real man eats his meat and potatos in a shot glass.

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