let’s say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac—and filled the room with its warm aroma—how do you think he would fare then?” We sat silently, looking into each other’s eyes—trying to read each other’s thoughts. He broke the silence first. “Maybe that’s not the right comparison. Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead.” “So what you’re saying is, I’m your brand of heroin?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
