Booze beckons beneath the sun’s cheerful vast skies. It is a Tuesday, boozeday, perfect day for booze, the skies the brightest shade of light blue one can imagine. The week is nascent, full of hope, lacking the chaos and screaming faces of Friday, cynicism depleted. But one drinks only in the evening, when obligations take flight, when one is alone with the night, a vastness before one. One can drink when the shadows begin their dance and streetlamps flick on, …