I want to live somewhere in between the third and fourth glass of wine. I want to wander around life with a simple smile that makes itself, relaxed shiny eyes and peaceful shoulders. That warm and happy place that melts over you when you are reaching for the bottle, pouring your third glass and acknowledging yet ignoring that soon the bottle will end. I like that place. I like knowing that it’s not my last glass, there is more. I like being wise enough to know that after four glasses, the feeling isn’t the same. There is no real feeling, there is just drunk. The playfulness between three and four is perhaps why they don’t make bottles big enough for five glasses.

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