As I was walking up DeKalb toward home I knew I was going to buy a sixer at the Halal place by Washington Ave. As I got past the park I started to worry, because normally by then I would have decided the brand or at least the yeast. But it just wasn't coming to me.
Certainly not a Blue Moon - those are clear, mild and easily understood. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is a mainstay but mainly for celebrations. Budweiser tallboys get to work fast but I had done that the other night and didn't feel like dealing with the wide mouth. Miller Lite is always out of the question. No one sells High Life in my rounds except the Chinese guy on 8th between Broadway and 6th Ave (obviously I'm not sure where exactly).
The worry had matured into sincere disorientation by the time I opened the door to the mart. Luckily, the ghost of King Lear or my great grandfather or someone whispered in my ear, "Don't worry. You'll know what to do when you get to the fridge."
The old man was right. Sitting behind the sliding door was Lagunitas IPA of Petaluma, Calif., a vestige of the Tacoma days and a brooding, gritty beer that could chip your teeth. Perfect for the silence of my empty apartment.
Tomorrow there will be another. But tonight, I've got Petal Town's favorite lady on my lips.
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