12 Hours
Its 6 pm. You walk in the door and realize in a short twelve hours you’ll be going back.
You open the fridge and grab a cold Fat Tire. You’ve gotten fussier with your beers as you’ve gotten older. It has to be decent beer these days. Your beer usually needs a bottle opener, no more screw or pop tops for you.
The first one barely hits the sides. It’s been a day. Most of them are, aren’t they? It’s a job few people…