09/08/2020 Snippet, THE THING IN MY HIP FLASK.

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It is only now, involuntarily ensconced as I am in this psychiatric facility, that I have begun to consider how oddly ambitious we all were. Not to mention how indulgent those ‘authorities’ turned out to be. We were proposing to be modern moonshiners, after all. Surely this should have bothered more people.

We did have some cover, albeit a razor-thin one. At least in our state, one may distill without a license — as long as it is for something like ‘essential oils,’ or water. We decided upon water, since that way we could switch over to illicit spirits at need without worrying too much about by-products contaminating the process…

“By-products.” “Contaminating.” Dear God in Heaven.

…and, besides: distilled water might even make us some money. What came from the tap in town was not bad, exactly, but the locals insist that the flavor was different before the reservoir was put in. None of them can precisely say how, since the reservoir was built a full century ago — but ‘oral tradition’ covers a multitude of tall tales.