preparation

So airport beer sucks, even if it's Czech, but this one came from a beer store!  Always a good sign, especially since the stores have been diligent in finding worthwhile brews.  This might be the first one I've picked up with a foil cap, though.

Once uncapped bubbles rise, although the head doesn't last very long.  It's slightly sour, a typical pilsner, which makes me think back to the Naparbier pilsner of the Craft Beer Fest.  The sourness leaves, or I get used to it, after a few sips, leaving behind a subtle beer, one that calls out for hot summer nights and lawn chairs.

perceptive

No, that's a pretty far-fetched story.  Maybe he's a victim of paranoia rather than actual threats.  He's a paranoid schizophrenic and he imagines people who don't exist are out to get him.  He feels himself surrounded by aliens, or agents of some secret organization, and keeps himself locked up tight, with the separate entrance, so they can't get into his head.  They're only active during the day, that's why he stays awake all night, so he can get his thinking done without any worries that they'll catch on to his thoughts, like tapping into a phone line or hacking into a transmission.  He used to work for some big prestigious business, like a bank, or maybe an advertising agency or law firm.  Maybe even a college.  Nah, that's just too typical, the crazy college professor.  The genius who's just over the line of sanity.  Better to make him a "regular" guy, not even in management.

So he's working like he should, processing loan applications let's say, and one day, all of a sudden, he looks up and sees three guys in suits in the middle of the lobby, three Men In Black, straight out of the script.  They're just twenty feet away from his desk and looking right at him, well probably, 'cause you can't tell what they're looking at behind those dark glasses.  Nobody is reacting to them, like nobody sees them, but the people in close proximity do look a little nervous.  Like they have the feeling something is off, but they can't quite identify what it is.  Well, he sits there for a couple of minutes, just staring at them, ignoring a customer on the other side of his desk.  And then he panics.  He doesn't just excuse himself and try to sneak out of the building while the customer thinks he's going to the bathroom, no, he jumps straight out of his chair, pointing at the MIBs and screaming, "You'll never take me alive!" and then he hurls a potted plant towards them.  Immediately, he runs out of the bank, hoping he's hit one of them or that at least the confusion and hysteria of the other bank customers would slow them down.  Then he races home, locks his doors, and starts pulling papers out of drawers.  He fills the bathtub with them and strikes a match.  When the papers are burning brightly, he throws some clothing into a gym bag and leaves his house, never to return.  He rents the attic and sits there all night, every night, telling himself they won't be able to track his thoughts if he only thinks when the sun is down.  The woman is his therapist, or case worker, or something.  Maybe he doesn't talk to her because she comes in the daytime.  Maybe he thinks she's an agent of THEIRS.  Or maybe they have really good conversations because she's convinced him she can block their radar.  His family has been searching for him, but he hid his trail so well, remarkably, that they haven't had any luck.  Or maybe they never looked.  Maybe they disowned him for causing such a scene at work and now he's all alone in the world, with his case worker.

a realization

I got this beer from a friend who went to Prague on business and grabbed some bottles at the airport.  I remember tasty beers in the Czech Republic, even if not as daring as the craft beers that have graced my palate, so this was...disappointing.  The color appears weak at first, sort of diluted brown, like watery flat Coke.  It has a pilsy bitter taste, not like ale or IPA and the more I look at the color the more it seems really tea-like.  But a weak tea.  It takes on an odd kind of ramen noodle smell after a while.  It's kind of watery from start to finish, and nothing memorable appears in the beginning or the end of drinking it.  It's just not what i'm used to anymore - I've become a beer snob!  But really, who expects to find a good beer in the airport?

I think it's Czech for "blah"

refueling

Nothing after a long night's teach than a black ale!  I actually spent the day thinking about it sitting and waiting for me.

Tall, dark and mysterious?

The description on the side was a little unsettling; there's something that takes you aback about calling a beer "whore" and "slut", but at the same time it will "rip you to the tits".  I have to say my experience with Libertine was not so violent, and I am not sorry about that.  It's wafty as soon as it's opened, with an earthy, aley smell.  The beer is a chocolaty brown liquid, bubbly but low head.  It has an oddly citrusy taste; I'm used to more bitterness from my ales and smokiness from my black beers, but it's a nice variation from the norm.  After a while on the table it ends up sweeter than most ales, but smooth and easy to swallow to the end.

Is it me, or does that glass of ale look like a tease?

mindful

He sits in that room in the attic of the house across the street every night.  He's sitting at a table with his hands clasped in front of him a little like he's praying right now.  I don't see anything on the table in front of him, though maybe if I had a real telescope instead of cheap binoculars, I'd pick up more details.  He nods his head a little bit and just might be mumbling to himself, either in delusions or in prayer.  He lives all alone in that attic; the house is a duplex with one apartment downstairs and that attic living space with its own entrance at the back.  I've never seen him come out, but every once in a while a business-like woman goes in and leaves a few hours later.  Maybe she's his daughter or other family member.  Maybe she's a social worker.  She only comes during the day, so I can't see in the window and observe what she does.  I wonder if the man sits all day and all night at that table.  I've never even seen him change clothes.  He's always wearing that black robe-like thing.  He looks a little like some Renaissance portraits, actually, with the heavy folds of cloth and his pious posture and all framed by the light of the window.  He's bald and his head shines under the bare lightbulb.  His face doesn't look terribly wrinkled to me, but again, my equipment isn't the greatest.  It's strange that nobody actually knows who he is.  Or maybe they do know, but for some reason they don't want to tell me.  Whenever I ask around, I get shrugged shoulders, blank looks, or even a waving hand of annoyance.  So, there's no information.  I have to imagine everything.

I imagine his name is George.  He was once a rich and powerful man, but made some bad decisions and, like in a Poe story, received his just desserts.  He made some bad bets maybe, ended up with too many debts or creditors.  Maybe he's in hiding.  The pressures of his lifestyle got to him.  He ended up killing somebody, maybe one of his creditors, maybe his love.  Yes, she asked too many embarrassing questions and he killed her in a fit of rage.  Unfortunately, her father was one of his supporters and creditors.  So George had to flee for his life.  And now he sits up there, with a name that isn't his own, with the feeling that any minute somebody might find out who he is and the gunman will come for him.  He prays all night while he sits and rocks, hoping above all that he dies quietly, right there at that table, a heart attack or stroke, something that will do the job quickly.  There's just something terrible about a public death, or a loud one with explosions and screams.  It's much more dignified to go without making a sound.  So that's why he's there, all by himself all the time (except for that one woman), he's under protection and fear weighs on him at every moment.