Anger gave way to fascination as Jamie's leftover beer evolved into an unholy sludge and, at some point, we dressed it in a little red jacket and named him Pepe. For six years, he was our constant companion.
Alas, our agency switched cleaners last week and Pepe was gone the very next day. We never even had time to say goodbye or definitively answer just how much money it would take to make you chug it.
See you at the crossroads, homie.