Did anyone like 

IPA

s anymore? Before they shot Keith up into 

Spacecity

they were still niche. During his enlistment they became the norm. And now people seemed to have been long fed up with them. Tired of pretending to like them. Pre Spacecity, Keith actually liked IPAs. The bitterness combined with the sting of the carbonation. Refreshing on a long summer day. Warmed his heart during a winter snow storm.

Now he didn't enjoy it. Didn't go down smooth. Felt stick in his mouth and the back of his throat. Would try to swallow it and feel like there was a glob of saliva stuck. Maybe he was allergic to IPAs. He preferred something lighter these days. Cold lager. Better yet a pilsner. Or a kolsch.

That Max guy liked to drink mixed drinks. Not a fancy cocktail. More closer to a college party drink. The one he ordered the two of them was called an AMF. It was only once Max had left the bar that Keith asked the bartender. Why is it called an AMF?

"Adios mother fucker."

Keith's face scrunched.

"That's what AMF stands for. Supposed to hit you like a truck. And it's like. Adios, mother fucker."

"Ah. I see."

Keith could feel it now. He was a lot drunker than he had planned on getting. Max had already gone out the door. Was he driving after having imbibed this?

"Yeah I wouldn't recommend driving right after that. Max is a funny fellow. Can get away with it. I mean it's a small town. You could technically get away with it most days. But if you do get caught. It's really adios, mother fucker that day."

Keith looked down at his glass of water. He should super hydrate he thought.

"I'm not the type to drink and drive."

The bartender nodded. Keith sipped water. The bartender refilled his red, transparent, plastic cup. Keith took a long swig. Looked at the clock. It was seven.