When I was a kid, blue collar workers from Philadelphia would come down on weekends and live in boathouses, shacks built out over the water on Clam Creek. One lady named Becky, who in my memory was about 80, sat outside on a bench all day and drank beer. All day. I once went in her boathouse and looked in the refrigerator. It had nothing but Budweiser and a jar of relish.
When I was about thirteen I brought one of my school friends down there during the summer. As we walked down the aisle, he whispered to me, ” EVERYONE here is drinking beer!”
I’m like, ” So what?”
He said, ” Yeah, but its only ten o’clock in the morning.”
The wisdom of old age right there