Friday Night Story


I smell like a cheap Moscow prostitute- probably one made up and pretending he doesn’t have a penis. The bottle is made to look like Brut, but the scent claims to be the Musk of a Winter Breeze. Having touched a Siberian musk deer up close, I know this makes no sense- and not only because I am drunk off aftershave. By the way it burns my lips, it is at least 90 percent ethanol, which means I may not get ill from the other chemicals in it.

I used to drink moonshine made down the block, lovely fellow made it, my grandfather knew his father as children. His liver exploded in pieces and the police raided his stills the day after, catching his son with the whole month’s supply and pouring it into the sewer.

It is part of the governments’ crack down on illegal liquors, part of their push for a state monopoly. I am neither communist nor democrat, but I am free man- my skin is yellowed- I know I haven't long, but more than anything I want this also for my children.

As myth had Lenin remark, “He who controls the vodka controls the country.” I do not think Lenin actually said this, but any leader who did not know this in his heart does not know Russia, then or now.

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