September 26, 2025

Sixteen-ounce Can of Narragansett

Made on honor, sold on merit.

It feels wrong, at a show, to drink anything fancier. I stood toward the back, beer in hand, and was 25 again—though when the singer announced that her kid, too, was recovering from hand, foot, and mouth disease, I had to laugh. So far from it, really, and my sleeping son just a few miles away a reminder of how long it’s been.

I got a buzz on and went back for another, thanked the bartender and sipped the little bit of foam that sizzled around the top of the open can. Maybe I’ll regret this, I thought, envisioning my bike ride home and how badly I might have to pee. I tucked the beer beneath one elbow, held ice-cold against my ribs, ready for applause.