The first beer I ever stole was a Shiner's legendary Bock. I was 19 years old and had spent the summer visiting my brothers' Matt Brown and Mark-Andrew Feaster in the inexhaustible swelter that is Dallas, Texas in the summer months. Back then accumulating Shiner's was like trying to sunggle Coors across the Continnetal divide thrity years ago. You just couldn't find it up north. Filching my brothers' fridge and stowing a six-pack in my carry on to nurse on the flight home seemed like a lesser crime.
|Solstice at Sandridge...|
So this solstice, under a swelling umbrella of darkness, sip into Shiners holiday tithe, and wait for the rebirth of light leaking at first in coppery alchemical spittles of wheat and gold.