whisky and blues is that late night cry. the sum of secrets
that graves collect. the lovers you lost and the ones you borrowed.
it’s hope for your children. love for your family. the kool-aid and
the collard greens. the mirror and the middle finger to society. it’s
the thorn of undesirable, but inevitable, change. it’s bellowed
laughter. private weeping. the aha moment. the pain and the therapy.
the cause and the cure. everyone has a drink of choice. this is
whisky, neat. no drops of water, no ice, no chaser.
