I don't blink an eye when spending $10-$15 on two fingers of good whiskey. I appreciate the quality and I recognize that I am imbibing something to be savored, and I truly enjoy it, making the cost a factor I am willing to bear. Contrast this with the fact that this morning, for the second time in recent history, I ate eggs that were "less than fresh" before working out and paid the price in bile. Granted, I usually don't do vigorous exercise in New Orleans summer heat after drinking any grade of whiskey, but I think I have learned a lesson. Thusly, next time I go to the grocery sto', rather than eyeing the single-malts and 30-years and fermented-with-the-sweat-of-a-virgin's-brow top-shelf crap, I'm gonna buy a new carton of fucking eggs.
In other words, whiskey ages better than eggs. Or maybe I should just do shots before long bike rides.
On repeat: Ghastly City Sleep