That sizzling afternoon, I lounged on the couch, watching television while treating myself to a well-chilled bottle of Star beer. Beads of condensation trickled down the brown glass, cooling my fingers each time I took a sip. The bitter, refreshing taste lingered pleasantly on my tongue, offering a welcome escape from the oppressive heat outside.
The ceiling fan rotated lazily overhead, pushing warm air around the room as the television murmured in the background. It was one of those quiet afternoons when time seemed to move more slowly than usual.
Then Philomena walked into the parlor.
She stopped beside the couch and looked down at me.
A faint snort escaped her nostrils, somewhere between amusement and disapproval, as though she had just caught sight of something she found mildly ridiculous.
I turned my head to look at her, beer bottle still in hand, waiting for whatever she was about to say.
"Where did you get that beer from?"
"How is that your business?"
