99 bottles of beer.

The fridge died at some point on Monday. One of the many joys of relocation is getting settled in new places and figuring what’s broken. I know this routine all too well. Without much food deal with, I simply transferred everything to my Coleman cooler—bringing yet another element of the whole “indoor camping” scenario into my living situation.

To my surprise, they actually fixed the old appliance and by the time I got home yesterday I had a cold icebox once again. I put my bachelor food supply back where it belongs—cheese, tortilla shells and hot sauce—and paused when I got to the beer at the bottom of the cooler. Ice cold. So perfect in its element. I left it there and told myself I would take advantage of this somewhat out-of-the-ordinary situation by drinking a few. But I fell asleep.

This morning I pulled each of them out of the cooler one by one and wiped them down. So cold. So delicious. I was tempted, but it was coffee drinking time. I have far too much to do today to kick things off with an Anchor Steam, right? Right.


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