I pretty much emptied the house of whiskey a few weeks ago and consequently found myself thrust into the wasteland of sobriety. I looked inside cupboards and behind the piano. I searched high and low, all of my hiding places: the attic, the fake hollowed-books on the bookshelf, the fireplace, and the ceramic garden gnomes on the lawn. Nothing but cobwebs and empty bottles greeted me. Inside the gnome I found a crumpled-up note: “Need to replenish soon.” Damn it. What have I done to deserve this? Consciousness, sobriety, clarity—these demons beckon me from the pit. They seek to lead me down the desolate road of depression, but I won’t let that happen. I made a mad dash for my pills, but the plastic bottles were also empty. Suddenly, as if a campfire flickering in a dark valley, a light goes on in my mind. The flask! You see, I had forgotten—lo these many dry days!—that I had tucked away my leatherette Jack Daniels flask inside the spare tire well of my trunk. It contains a portion of the Yeni raki that a Turkish friend of mine graciously sent over from Istanbul last year. My weeks of wandering in the wasteland are over…for now.