Amstel Light.
I needed a couple sixers after wrecking-ball'd someone's door.
Stop at local corner upscale Beautiful People hangout. Prerequisite 25y/o douchebag is in knotted tie and coat ensemble over yonder. It's 12:05, and I gave him a perfunctory laugh. He has two big red gin blossoms on his face, high color. Chubby blonde kid, core temp is probably about 104 in that coat. He'll be okay.
Bar girl (cute): "Whats up?"
Me (not cute): "Hey, not much. Got sixpacks to go?"
Yep.
Like, whatchu got?
Everything... (she begins the list..)
How about two sixes of Amstel?
Amstel Light, she says.
"I know, you can't get "Amstel" in America, only "Amstel Light".", I reply. I'm tall and ugly and hairy, and you can smell the leather of my awesome coat, hear it creak like a battleship. I have laid the groundwork for her to bring Amstel Light to people who request Amstel, authoratitatively, and then impart the wisdom "They don't sell Amstel in America." Knowledge is power. I have empowered her, and for that she is grateful. Outwardly she shows no sign. I sense Aztec blood, they are a stoic people. She will make a fine Lieutenant in the Uprising.
That, then?
Yeah, two.
She goes away for a while, comes back.. "Twenty-One" she exclaims over the din. I look haggard, my coat is older than her. I know she's not asking me for ID.
That means, these sixes are 10.50 each. I wince.
You got white Sambvvka, cold?
Yep.
Lets have one..
She brings it, I knock it down. I give two twenties, tell her keep a five. She smiles, says thanks.
Brings change, I stuff it away. "That guy looks ridiculous," I say, indicating the jacketed heat-stroke victim. She smiles, says yep.
Off I go.