Let us not dwell on matters of international intrigue, because international matters are not intriguing. Leastways not nearly as much as moonshine.

The prospect of clandestinely distilling my own spirits fills me with hope and purpose. It’s a grandfathered, salt-of-the-earth subversion. While I would like very much for the sweat of my brow to sate my world-weary restlessness, I do not believe this to be a realistic goal in these unreal times. So I shall, at some unspecified future date, invest my efforts into the small-scale production of a hooch that will allow me to forget my troubles, if only briefly.

While this may offend the law, I no longer indulge in flattering myself to think I am so significant as to entice it to care. And my conscience will sleep as soundly as the rest of me no doubt will.

Cheers!