Magic in My Mug
<p>It just tasted like funky grape juice. It had a sharp little bite, for a bite-sized person.</p>
<p>This was way before I knew what fermentation was, and a lifetime before my body trembled for a tall Tito’s with a splash of soda.</p>
<p>There was no “nectar-from-the-gods,” physiological eureka moment — as I’ve heard others in recovery say.</p>
<p>But I knew just enough to be dangerous: I knew it could transform me into someone else.</p>
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