NEEDLING

The fifth beer is when you realize you’re closing in real fast on the final chapter. Cracking that one, you promise yourself to sip it slowly and enjoy it. Which is fine because you’ve got a slight buzz going, and you might as well enjoy it, and take your time. The fifth beer is not only the beer of truth, but also the beer of denial. Even though the end is eminent, and you know it, you don’t yet have to face that fact. The fifth beer tastes almost as good as the first one. The end is near, but it’s not quite here yet. The sixth beer – when you’ve only purchased one six pack – is a funeral. The fifth beer is like an Indian summer, a second chance, a second wind which takes the cyclist up that last bit of that last hill. The fifth beer is a rediscovery, an appreciation of life as you know it, a temporary pill of good health, a slight burst of light. When the fifth beer is gone, you know it’s close to bed time, to falling asleep, to waking up, to going back to work. The fifth beer is heaven. Slightly buzzed, slightly stupider, slightly rosier around the cheeks feeling warm and excited, you drink the fifth beer with a je ne sait quoi happiness which lasts but a moment before denial takes place. The fifth beer is the answer to the universe, it is the answer to mortality. Once it’s gone, you’re that much closer to the end of the six pack. And once that’s gone, it’s gone and over with for ever. The fifth beer is eternal youth while being eternally closer to death. The fifth beer is the proof that life must be enjoyed.