Ten
Windfall
I’m at the liquor store, one of the government-run outfits instead of a private shop, because I have thirty-six dollars and change left, and I need a drink. The price of booze always shocks my American friends when they visit—it’s expensive in Canada. No Japanese whisky today—can’t afford it. Even the Jack Daniels is too rich for my thin wallet, and they’re out of the mickey bottles, so I’ll have to settle for the sample sizes in the rack near the register. I don’t make eye contact as the guy rings me up.
As soon as I’m out the front door, I open one of the samplers and pour the contents down my throat, followed quickly by a second. By the time I reach my doorstep, I’m four minis down—I’ll have to ration the last three for when I stuff my remaining worldly possessions into
