Raindrops were falling in the sweltering weather, gurgling in the Rockies Range through the valley divided into two streams. It seemed lucky not getting the C- ampoules hypodermic syringe injection, or having nothing to blame for a lost child from in vitro fertilization. There could be of no difference to submerge into the Rhone or the Mississippi River for every pore through volumes of documents.
Then we got to name the wines. I knew there would be Johnnie Walker for whisky, Remy Martin for brandy and Heineken for beer. Heineken? Not Budweiser? Eric once quarreled with Nicole in Michael Crichton’s novel, Prey, “Shut up, butt breath.” “Shut up yourself, weasel puke.” Butt breath? Butt wiser? That’s Budweiser. Several years ago I got a free treat from local pub for two Budweiser beers. Then came the dialogue blame for the 2002 product promoting event of Heineken near Lucerne in Switzerland. “You let him pay with the Citigold for the free beer? Oh, what the loss it could bring to us from that promoting festival only charging him for a reason to identify him?”
What I could relate of any words to it should be, pity, although it seemed to be not suitable or even not proper in certain contingencies. But the boulder and the Colorado River with a psychology magazine would keep that feeling at bay, at least I was thinking so.
DB. August 20, 2013