44.

It's crowded and dark enough in the kitchen that no one seems to see my first adoption. My humanitarianism goes unnoticed. Dark brown liquid comes up to about a third of the red plastic cup. I'm sorry no one wanted you little guy, I'll love you for who you are. I throw it back and imagine the sea crashing into the shore. The sea tastes like cheap rum and shitty cola. I think the sugar and the acid from the cola burns more than the rum. I keep the empty cup in hand, my new found vessel for self destruction. From then on I just find more abandoned little ones and take them in. I win an Oscar and an Emmy for my performance as I glide around the kitchen stealthily pouring more left overs into my original cup. One man's unwanted booze and backwash is another man's treasure. Remember Chumbawumba? Remember Tubthumping? Well if you do, great. If you don't, fuck you. I'm pilfering a grab bag of the strangest assortment. A whiskey drink. A vodka drink. A gin drink. I don't know if that's what tubthumping is, but I'm doing it.