I went grocery shopping this morning at Giant Eagle. Picked up what I needed and then got in line behind a well-dressed middle-aged gentleman who was holding back somewhat in one of the two open lines. He had a bottle of Bushmill’s in his cart (I noticed because I’m partial to Bushmill’s myself) that was set aside as a separate purchase from the rest of the items in his cart. I realized that he was waiting for 9am, when liquor sales begin. Throughout the whole process of ringing up and paying, he chatted and joked with Edith at the register and was quite pleasant. Your typical middle-aged man who looked to be getting ready for a party.

After he left I was chatting to Edith when a man got in line behind me. Like the first man he was middle aged—probably in his 50s or 60s—but unlike the first, this man looked the worse for wear. He also looked as if he might not smell very good. His general demeanor was of a man to whom life had not been very kind. The only thing on the conveyor belt was a large bottle of cheap rum. As I glanced back, I noticed that although his hands were resting on the edge of the conveyer, both arms were visibly trembling.

As I said goodbye to Edith and pushed my cart away, I heard him ask, in a rough voice, for two packs of cheap cigarettes.

It was 9AM. They were just two middle-aged men buying liquor, but they could hardly have been more different.