Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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Breaker, breaker, channel nineteen, this is Whiskey Alpha Romeo, calling out for anyone on the line.

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Breaker, breaker, this is WAR1974. Currently on State Highway 37, just west of Norman, Oklahoma.

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Yeah, I figured it was a bit of a long shot. [click, static]

So I finally got to the point where I needed to start looking for more food —I’ve still got some jerky and some canned peaches, but I’ve definitely burned through my supply faster than I thought I would.

I’m not a huge fan of peaches.

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Anyway, I popped into a grocery store in Norman—it was like every other grocery I’ve been to in the last six years. A lot of rot. Thank god for America’s insistence on canned food, huh? Otherwise I really would be shit out of luck.

I restocked, got some more beans and what not, but here's the really exciting thing—

[click, static] Cigarettes. [click, static]

God, remember cigarettes? I’d half forgotten that they existed. I hadn’t even thought to look for them until now because Harry never let me have them in the house. She hates the smell, always despised the habit. Which I always told her was absurd give she was an artist in New York - isn’t it, you know, mandatory for people like her? But she wouldn’t budge.

First year or so, I would just smoke out in the yard—way out in the yard —but I had to have a designated smoking jacket—not, you know, an actual smoking jacket, not a velvet thing, though I’m now understanding why smoking jackets exist. Huh. I’d never put two and two together on that one.

Um, mine was this massive Carhartt that was in the house we settled in —it must’ve belonged to a man who was about six five because I swam in it and I’m not a small person. It was too big to really do any work in, but it became the coat I smoked in. Because not only did I have to do it outside, but Harry would throw a fit when I came in smelling like smoke, so that Carhartt was designated to soak up cigarette smoke and be hung up in the shed.

That all got old after a while—having to skulk off anytime I wanted to enjoy a cigarette in my own home. So I just...stopped.

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Harry was so annoying about it when I finally got over withdrawal. Because, yeah, I did feel better, but that could’ve been all the exercise I was getting or the lack of drinking or eating food fresh from the ground. It wasn’t necessarily giving up smoking.

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Well, I don’t have to give it up anymore! I grabbed a bunch of different brands and I’m going to indulge, figure out which is the best now that I don’t have to worry about paying for them. Lemme tell you, it has really improved my day.

I hope you’ve got something to brighten your day too, Birdie. Whiskey out.

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