Cold Wave Filtration

Hey, Darren here.

Kind of gloomy, outside, I mean. Inside I’m feeling terribly drunk.

I never knew why they called them White Claws. I feel like it was some sort of compromise between grizzly bear and great white, but who really knows, I suppose that ultimately that’s between Jesus and Mr. Claw - I hope to meet him some day. Mr. Claw, I mean. Jesus always seemed like one of those frat bros who’s way too obsessed with his dad and always talking about taking over the family construction business.

But who knows? Maybe Mr. Claw and Jesus are the same guy? Or the same lady, like these feminists are always going on about? I keep reading the back of this White Claw to check, but it doesn’t give me any of the information I actually need.

Speaking of, somebody asked me once (yesterday), if I “drink every day.” I was offended by their question’s lack of specificity but I answered anyway:

“Not every day.”

The pause between “not” and “every” was perceptibly long, but I thought myself quite clever for skirting their actual question on a technicality. Well, unless they were talking about water. I do drink a few drops of the municipal stuff every evening. Specificity. C’mon, people.

But, yes, we were discussing invasive questions and the constitutionality of utility easements. You keep interrupting. Shush.

As I was saying, I found it rude that he felt he had the right to ask me such a sensitive question. Especially considering that as my part-time wellness coach and full-time charcuterie consultant he had to already know the answer. He was obviously just trying to blather on in order to elongate our conversation for another fifteen billable minutes.

Admittedly, it was pretty smart; exactly the move you’d expect from the type of guy you’d want as your part-time wellness coach. He already had me on the hook for an hour and fifteen talking about how Denzel Washington’s movies are the perfect lens in which to view the Black experience in America. Compelling take. I always appreciated his views on the subject of Denzel since his mom was the head of catering on Die Hard with a Vengeance.

Anyway, he secured an additional $117 with his impertinent question and asked another:

“Are you planning on drinking today?”

I told him to be “less nosy” and “more interrogatively specific,” and paid him $886.28.

I wondered if he was going to try to kiss me.

If he would even want to.

If anyone would want to.

I kissed some White Claws instead.

They didn’t bite like a shark or maul like a bear, just numbed things a little. They tasted cold, like the water in the Atlantic or the air in Arctic, or maybe just something sad and stuck in between.