The commotion lasted half a Saturday morning, taking place almost directly in front of my house on Railroad Avenue, otherwise known as El Barrio.
It was back in the ‘50s, on a summer morning when several of us spotted a shirtless neighbor, Tommy, driving while guzzling a can of Coors.
Sure, it’s a grt-tasting brew (or so some of the older boys in the neighborhood told me). But why did Tommy flaunt his guzzleability and flout the law? I assume Tommy was of legal age to drink, but isn’t it illegal to drink and drive anyway? (Yes, dear reader, we used to ask that question even six decades ago).
After about his 20th u-turn, some of us flagged him down, asking what his game was. “Do you see any beer in my car?†And before we got a chance to respond, he asked, “Do you smell any beer?†Continue reading