It had been a grim and brutal day of repeated disappointment and base degradation.

* make us famous

All the traditional spots had been bone dry and all the secondary spots equally so. In the wake of this fruitless labor, bereft of drugs, I began to doubt my chosen path as a scavenger of intoxicants from the ground. Perhaps it was not a noble calling of the highest value, as I had always surmised, but a shallow delusion; a hollow flight of fancy. 

It was in this moment of self-doubt that I looked to my right and saw, wedged between two dumpsters, a foam cooler, glistening in the sun. Its disheveled condition led me to believe that it had been left behind from last night’s party, and was now waiting patiently for a new owner to claim it. Not one to question the will of god, neither to ignore the whimsy of fate, I opened the cooler to find, at the bottom of a small, icy lake, eight fully intact Coors Lights. 

Oh debauched revelry! Oh blissful freedom from the mundane responsibilities of coherence! It was with absolute certainty of my role in the universe that I found a bush to hide in, drank those eight Coors Lights, and fell asleep in the afternoon breeze.