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…

--

--

--

Self discovery in progress, stay tuned

Love podcasts or audiobooks? Learn on the go with our new app.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Ann Litts

Ann Litts

Self discovery in progress, stay tuned

More from Medium

I Learned Something Recently: There’s No Organizing My Spice Cabinet

NYC in the 70s Reminds me of Now

What’s a Two-Letter Word for Hypocrite?

Open Mouth, Insert Foot, Then Repeat