Two Sundays ago I crashed after running 18 miles as part of my Marines Corps Marathon training and was trying to nap.
I limped downstairs into the kitchen and told Bob my legs were twitchy.
"I'm so exhausted but can't fall asleep."
"Have a shot of Old Bushmills," Bob said.
"A real shot."
It was 2 o'clock.
"No sipping."
I poured myself a glass of whiskey and drank it. In one shot.
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