33
Cocktail Hour
Night fell slowly but surely outside the tool shop.
Inside, I opened and poured the owner’s beer stash into a sink. The entire six pack. Each one, a litre bottle.
I stuck a finger in the neck of each bottle and carried them over to the workbench, the smell of beer mixing in with methanol and motor oil.
The bottles clinked together as I laid them on the bench in front of Nathan, who wore a battered leather apron tied around his waist. He took one of the bottles and placed a clear plastic funnel inside. He told me to hold the bottle steady as he poured in a measure of methanol from a grey, four-litre container.
He put the methanol down and picked up a can of motor oil. In went a generous dash of thick oil, creating golden swirls in the clear liquid, filled two thirds o
