if anybody wants to vote for one in particular...
Miller High Life:
“Things could be worse,” he told himself. “things could always be worse.” He sighed heavily as the old man played the same song on the jukebox for the 5th consecutive time. He lifted his Miller High Life, enjoyed a sip of its light, easy-going manner, watched in the mirror behind the bar as two hooded men entered with guns, and then, as Otis sang “Try a Little Tenderness,” things got worse.
I danced all night, or so I’d been told. I enjoyed light, easy-going Miller High Lifes all night, or so I’d been told. I made out with a classmate, or so I’d been told. I wish someone had told me this was a party seminary.
"She was quiet with concerned eyes and silky hair and skin my lucky senses enjoyed for a short while. I'd daydream sometimes I was a miniature man living in a tiny cabin on her suprasternal notch. I'd stand on the porch in the mornings and early evenings, rest my hands on the railing, close my eyes, and breathe in her light perfume that mixed seamlessly with her skin's own delicate scent. Or a recent shower might've left a droplet of water there and I'd backstroke lazily in it, looking up at her chin - the chin I'd kissed and held between my teeth whenever I could. I saw someone the other day with fingers that looked like hers: long and delicate like a willowy ballet dancer's legs and my own fingers ached at the memory of her fingers sliding along my palm to hold my hand. Inner elbows I'd stroked. Hair I'd brushed from her forehead. Her hand on my thigh ... I guess it's those little things that stick with you. How she pronounced certain words. That look...in her eyes that night....What's that? Oh. I suppose that didn't answer your question, did it? I'll take a Miller High Life, please."