All I could taste was oak and smoke and acid reflux
He’s reached the age where his nostalgia is not for my childhood, but his own.
She told some story about single casks and small batch distillers and blah blah blah whisky pointlessness. There’s nothing worse than a connoisseur. I sat and smoked and sipped my drink as she went on, filling the air with vapid small talk and clouds of smoke.