The road next to the brewery smells like my old dog's dog food. That was, what, fifteen or so years ago. Did I give him food every day? Walks were more my job. But that memory is lodged back there, that smell, and then I can see it and hear it and remember when I found that mouse in the bag and suddenly I miss my dog. And my friends are waiting for me inside and it's a birthday party and we've rented out the taproom. And tonight is supposed to be about youth and beer and girls. And all I can do is hold back tears and take breath after breath after deep, deep breath.
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