And so I sipped my one glass of red wine. Just one. And I let it roll along the sandpaper of my tongue. And the wine was better this way. Tiny sips. And it floated through my bloodstream like a warm front. And it would not be an overstatement to say this felt like the very point of existence. To savor each moment.
Then I ordered another glass.
— Sarah Hepola, Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget