I don't

[staplegun07]

drink scotch or whiskey straight very often, let alone in my own home. But when I do, I can feel the taste, the wood, the grains, the fermentation, the soul, the point, burn its way into my tongue. It's so sweet in my nose that I can't help but let my lips part. Let my tongue taste. Let me throat swallow.

The days that it holds sway are the ones that I both fear and revel in. This is one of the former.