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Another Communion: Old Tub, etc.

My buddy Phil is that inscrutable factor in a situation that can turn it into disaster or splendor with about equal likelihood. And the older I get, the more I appreciate such random agents in my life, on occasion. Case in point:


We're walking down the street in DC and Phil spies two black gentlemen surreptitiously huddled over a glowing ember they were passing back and forth with some care. The sweet smell of illusions emanated from their vicinity. Barging into their midst, Phil begs they're indulgence to join in.


This sounds like an intro to a COPS episode, right? Except he lives a charmed life: they share the warmth of their glow with us (because how else would I know I was there, right?), and we have an unexpected communion, there on 17th and Oblivion.


To celebrate, Phil brought out the Old Tub when we got back to the hotel, because what would a buzz be without another buzz to top it off? A worse rot gut I think I've never swilled, nor one I've ever enjoyed more.


Some people remain our friends for reasons beyond our ken. And thank god for it, because life would be so boring otherwise.



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