Gin is the thing


This evening I got a Lyft to Redwood City, where my friend lives with a mound of dogs and some peach trees. My Lyft drivers seem to becomimg more and more unreliable; the first one I tried to book got lost and drove around the carpark at the office, then drove off down the highway and never tried to make contact with me. One of my drivers last night was shirtless and incapable of following his GPS. It’s all a bit odd.
I tamped down the oddness a bit with gin. At BevMo last night I’d bought a sampler pack – three 200ml bottles of St George gin. There’s Terroir (the flowery one), Botanist (the other flowery one) and Rye, which tastes like rye whiskey, and what’s the point in that? I drink gin because it doesn’t taste like whiskey. It makes as much sense as low fat butter or a newspaper with the lies taken out.

Still, there was a jug of gin and tonic, and some roasted squash that was quite incredible (possibly due to being infused with the scent of the chicken it was barbecued next to) and wine, and friends, and cute fluffy dogs, so we sat in the garden and drank until it was dark, and then a friend drove me home rather than have Mr request another Lyft driver with questionable navigational powers.

On we journey, into the night…


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