I am Jack’s relentless thirst.
I travel as an electrical signal from sensory nerves in Jack’s liver and dermis, alerting Jack’s brain through chemical stimulation of the basic instinct to seek out refreshment. I help to trigger several mental images in Jack’s subconscious, eventually settling on a frothy alcoholic beverage made from hops and barley.
As Jack walks to his car and sets out to his favorite liquor store, I attempt to appease his yearning by simulating the smell and taste of a twenty-ounce glass of ice-cold Paper Street Black Eye Stout using snippets of memory gathered from Jack’s amygdala nuclei.
This sensation intensifies as Jack approaches and enters Wolfey’s Liquor and Spirits Emporium. As Jack hoists the case of Black Eye Stout over one shoulder, he briefly wonders if it would be inappropriate to consume one of the twenty four seductively chilled bottles he plans to purchase on his way to the cash register. This notion, however, is overpowered by Jack’s superego with promises of consumption in the near future.
The grizzled liquor store cashier attempts to make idle chit-chat with Jack, commenting on the current affair of some political something-or-other. But the only thing on Jack’s mind is the satisfying smoothness of a Paper Street Black Eye Stout. Jack’s lips begin to feel dry as he politely smiles, pays, and heads out the door.
At last, Jack is back in his car, the case of delicious Black Eye Stout beside him in the passenger seat. Jack relishes the thought of returning home to his worn-out Barcalounger and his one hundred and ninety plus HD channels. For a brief moment, Jack forgets his overpowering thirst and smiles, content in appreciating the small things in life.
That is, until Jack remembers he’s on his lunch break. As the realization that a case of beer is nigh impossible to keep cool locked in a hot car dawns on Jack, his sweat glands kick into high gear while he schemes how to sneak his newly-acquired alcohol into the break room refrigerator of the bank at which he is employed… all within the eight minutes he has left on his lunch.
I am Jack’s intense buyer’s remorse.