And now for something completely different . . .
To Health!
He sipped his beer slowly, methodically. He blew what little foam remained floating ever so lightly, just so as to make it feel the breeze of his breath without actually moving it closer to the side of the mug. He raised the edge of the cup to his lips and took in a sip, letting the bitter sweet rest and pool briefly on his tongue before swallowing it down, replacing the mug to the coaster where it had sat before. He stared into what foam remained as though trying to gaze into the deepest recesses of the universe.
“A women is it?” Pete tried to draw his attention away from a distant galaxy.
Instead Pete was given a reply by subspace from some distant region, his gaze remained fixed and unflinching as he responded without altering his facial expression or appearance of concentration, “Naw, haven’t had one of those to think about in longer than I care to think about. Fact is I really aint got anything to do, and I haven’t had a drink in a bar in a long time. How bored’s a fella gotta be to wonder into a bar to savor his favorite beer in a glass poured to him by another man because he just can’t think of anything else to do with his life? House is clean, TV is the same old shit since Shakespeare told by a fresh pair of tits, fiction books are about the same without the tits, and there’s nothing I feel like learning to crochet or diet; don’t feel like learning to be the Buddha this week. Christ, I’ve even listened to my 557 CDs enough times to choke a moose. This was the most creative idea I could come up with, and I aint here but to sip slowly on the same type of beer I’ve been drinking for over 20 years. I know what I like, I stick to it!”
“And you say you don’t have a creative bone in your body?”
“Actually, when I’m not pushin’ paper at the office, I’m painting. I’ve been through school to learn different ways to go about it. My style changes with wind and mood alike. I know myself well enough to know I’ll probably be painting a mug of beer in about 27 different ways shortly after I get home. Life as I know it just don’t seem fulfilling right now. Creativity or not, here is the beer to give me a perspective out of the ordinary.”
“How long did you say it’s been since you’ve . . . uh . . . thought of a women?” Pete asked hopefully.
He took a moment, looked up from the couple of suds left at the top of the liquid, and smiled. His gaze returned to the Crab Nebula. Despite this, his voice couldn’t conceal the hope of hope as he responded, “Petey, I may have something more to paint when I get home than merely beer.”
Without hesitation or method, he raised the cup to his lips and took in a long swig. Putting it down, his throat felt satisfied as he saw the outline of his own solar system begin to emerge in what he saw remaining in his cup.
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