I was walking back from the place with the cow on the roof, and the infinitely black puddles that filled the potholes reflected miniature galaxies of light from the shop fronts. The suburb of Chicago that I was currently stumbling through has become a Mecca for Greek migration. (And yes, I am making it sound like Greeks are nomadic, if not predatory miscreants, who have some implied need to move around. I am also likening them to Muslims, or Muslims to them.) [But, that is another story] {Also, we need to watch “The way of the Gun” again.}

But, I digress. So, there I was – alone on a dark street outside Chicago just after the rain made a depressing mess of things. Sulking, I hung my head and thought about all my woes. I walked forward, and suddenly, was bathed in light. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the glare. What was this sign from above? A heavenly chorus rang out. An answer to all of life’s problems stood before me. I girded up my loins and bravely marched into the liquor store.

Perspective is a marvelous thing. As above-mentioned, I had been at the place with the cow on the roof. While there, I had partaken in a few drinks born from an amazing vodka. I was, as they say in the south, buzzing. That was some good vodka!

It might have been the voice of God, it might have been my subconscious, it may have even been the fact that I was tipsy, (That was some good vodka!) but I knew what I had to do. Given my previous luck, I headed to the section of booze that was born in west Europe (what is now Poland to be exact) and made famous by Russia.

A casual reader might not catch the drift of what is really going on here. Allow me to explain. The need to drink more at this particular moment was not a sign of my alcoholism. It truly was a miracle. When I was suddenly bathed in the warm rays of the liquor store sign, I had a revelation. All of the questioning in my mind, all of the fear and doubts - they all steam from the same vein. I continue to question my purpose in life. For some reason, however, I have never questioned myself when I was writing. This house of booze reminded me that I need to get back to my stories.

I looked over the bottles of clear liquid. I needed inspiration. It was not so much that my hand reached out for the bottle, as it was that the bottle belonged in my hand. Sometimes, a sign, even from God, can be misinterpreted. I purchased a bottle of Van Gogh vodka.

It tastes not good.

I am resolved, though. I am going to write. By the end of this year, I am going to send a story off to be published. Shit. Ok. Here I go. (Damn! That vodka that I had at the place with the cow on the roof was really good.)