A shot of whiskey ended up being two shots of whiskey over ice in a faux-crystal drinking glass. Jack added a squeeze of lemon, a teaspoon of honey, and added seltzer water to the concoction. “Give it a try, Kemp.”
“Delicious. Great recipe.”
We walked from his moderately stocked kitchen to his living room. He took one end of the sofa. I took the other end. Then he made a toast, raising his glass, “To Jack Daniels and us being neighbors.”
“Cheers,” I replied, raised my own glass, and took another sip of the fine drink.
Honestly, I could have gotten drunk that evening, losing my composure and doing something silly, causing loads of self-embarrassment. That didn’t transpire, though. Instead, I was well-behaved, lightly talked, and listened to his playful stories of growing up in Cleveland
