BEFORE TURNING THIRTY

Before turning thirty, I made sure to become a wino. Cabs were my game—playing the easy red; an often tart ritual at $9 a bottle. Makes you feel heavy, wine does, like your drunk is standing on your shoulders or finding purchase in the pockets under your eyes, controlling you like a lazy eddy tugging on reluctant pond scum. You tilt helically, following weather patterns beyond your slowed perception. I became a wino before I turned thirty and made my bed each night in the eye of a storm.