Succumb Yr Thumb
by Ben Bush
I was standing in the bathroom stall of a dive bar with one my students. I took the lid off the top tank of the toilet. Eight beers were bobbing around, staying refrigerated in the fresh, cool water. I’d snuck a twelve-pack past the doorman when we came in and we’d already drunk the others.
“How much would you pay for one of these at the bar?” I asked.