In the grand cosmic joke where the punchline is often soaked in a barrel of Kentucky's finest or distilled through the grimy pipes of life's less-than-sober moments, here I am, standing on the precipice of the great sober unknown. It's a strange new world, a place where the glasses clink with a hollow promise of memories never made, where the bartender's nod is replaced by a suspicious squint, as if to say, "What's your poison? " and I reply, "Life, my good man.
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