Tales from Brewtopia

Today I’m taking one last look into the future of beer — until I feel like doing it again, anyway. The ensuing prose is the result of a half-day’s worth of scribbling almost-random thoughts down at a Borders while waiting for my wife to get off work. It ended up having a noirish, dystopian tone — almost like the first page of a sci-fi novel. So I decided to share. Who knows? Maybe I’ll keep writing.


“Hey, Alchemist. You want another pint of stout?”

I lifted my face from the puddle of drool on the bar top. The bartender was nodding down his line of spigots, his row of choose-your-own-adventure gallows.

“Or should I kindly ask you to get the hell outta here?”

I scratched my short, slightly moist beard and gazed at the taps, as if trying my damndest to settle on just one. He thought I was drunk, and I wasn’t going to argue. If you couldn’t get drunk, would you go around telling people? No. You’d play the part, use it as an advantage.

“Need me to decide for you?” he asked. “Maybe pick up your tab too, sweetheart?”

I really didn’t give a shit about which stout. My palate had been dead for nearly a decade, obliterated along with my ability to get intoxicated. But I wanted to be left alone, and he wasn’t likely to stop barking if I stayed quiet.

“Gimme the black one,” I said, slurring my speech. “And don’t call me that.”

The tender’s mouth screwed into his cheeks, showing off fresh wrinkles and a single broken tooth. Made me picture Rome time-lapsing into ruins.

“Aw, you don’t wanna be my sweetheart?”

“Alchemist. Never call me alchemist, unless you wanna spend tomorrow shitting your own teeth.”

He stared at me, never losing the smile but sharpening his eyes.

“Excuse me,” I said, smiling broadly back. “Tooth.”

He kept up the silent treatment. I sent it right back.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I’ll give you the black one. Wise ass.” But he poured the beer before pushing further. A moment later he slid the glass down the bar, but he did it sloppy, and stout sloshed out, fizzing on the bar like effervescent oil about to self-combust. “Not sure what’s got you cranky, Sir.” He said, still grinning, but now like a man who’s hiding a blade. “You wanna be left alone, right? Looks to me like all your dreams came true.”

That’s all I got. A little over the top, but that’s noir. I had fun writing it. Guess we’ll have to wait to see if the tale wanders further.

8 Responses to “Tales from Brewtopia”
  1. Tom says:

    Cotton Candy. I can’t possibly imagine that going well with beer (or with much of anything, to be honest).

    I was also gonna say bubblegum, but I suppose it’s debatable whether or not that’s actually food.

  2. Fil says:

    Haggis! no, that’s probably made palatable with beer . . or scotch . . or valium.
    Maybe, I know, deep fried twinkies and soda crackers! 😛

    • Scott says:

      Interesting … junk food sweets seem to be a popular choice so far. Tell you what, I’ll try the haggis and the Twinkies!

  3. Kris says:

    Loved the story – please continue to write!
    I’m thinking there might not be much that would go with candy corn, but I’m more interested in what does go with Pad Thai

    • Scott says:

      Thanks! I will. And I’ll add those suggestions to the list. Candy corn should be … interesting. Especially since I don’t like it much in the first place.

    • Scott says:

      Good one! Spicy food and beer are sometimes a tricky combo, at least in my opinion … thanks for the suggestion, honey! 😀

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