Nick thinks of beer. No, he dreams of beer. Hungover, ghost of six beers past churning in his corpulent stomach, that word sings, beer. Beer. En route to classes, a graduate student he thinks about beer. He conjures the amber ale of 90 Shillings, the bitter sour of a La Folies from New Belgium. He tries not to conjure beer, but after another lecture from his father, full of dissection, bad son, weak, too artistic, the beer calls. Drink me, …