“I mean people act like every single malt is superior to every blended whiskey, but that’s just ridiculous. Some of them taste like ass. And frankly, I don’t really want a bunch of weird flavours in my scotch. I want it to go down smooth and not give me a hangover the next day. I’d take a gold label over a random eighteen-year-old any day of the week…” He was further expounding on this topic to another friend when a cool hand slipped around his neck and some kind of expensive perfume wafted over him.
“Random eighteen-year-olds been bothering you lately?”
from Dijin City by Saad Z. Hossan (2017). Recommended.
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