Grandpa’s Beer

I had red wine with fish that night and when I explained to Bob G. that it was pinot noir, which was light, and I was eating an oilier fish (I actually don’t really care that much and have no idea if that’s for real but it seemed like a passable explanation) he seemed to relax a little but not entirely. I know the beer I was drinking, the one that prevented me from being emotionally consumed by the following exchange, was much, much warmer than I would have preferred, so I assumed that Bob G., seated comfortably in a canvas camp chair his daughter, Tor’s mother, had brought especially for him, would find his at least moderately satisfactory. “Ask that woman where my beer is,” Bob G. said, giving me one last accusing look.

Source: popula.com