I enjoy being angry with people, don’t you? I’ve been angry with some
people for so many years, my anger has mellowed into a fine wine of
bitterness and judgment. I descend the stairs into the cellar of my
memory, select a particularly good vintage, and uncork the bottle of my
gall. I smell the aroma, I see the sparkle in the glass, and I drink my
discontent to the dregs.
I hate to drink alone. Let me pour you a glass. Here’s what I’m serving today:
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