You: Wearing jorts, a screen printed Hill Farmstead t-shirt, and a trilby. You smelled of b.o. and lambic farts.
Me: About the same, but wearing a Tired Hands t-shirt and a Cellarmaker hoodie.
We briefly locked eyes in the Treehouse parking lot early afternoon on a Wednesday while waiting in line for cans of Very Green. You had your team of mules with you, and seemed preoccupied with giving them instructions. All I wanted to do was talk to you, but I understood your struggle all too well, as I was on the phone shouting at my grandmother to gather up her mahjong club and get their old asses over to the brewery so I could get extra allocations.
Although the acknowledgement of our connection was only momentary, I think we could both immediately feel the passion. I've had dreams ever since of the two of us, stroking each other's neckbeards, sharing our cellars (BUT NOT THE BOX LABELED BIN #1, THOSE ARE MY ******* WALEZ, STAY THE **** OUT).
If you see this, I'll be at the Other Half can release this weekend at 6am sharp. I plan to bring several really good bottles, which I'll only be willing to share with you, out of proper glassware (for 2) of course. If you don't show, just know that the trash I leave behind on Centre Street is a monument to what could have been.