It’s 6:30 am, the sun’s rays are starting to peak over the horizon and you could tell that it was going to be a magnificent Spring day. A band of five brothers have driven through the night in hopes of reaching their Mecca. Year after year, this band of brothers would take on a sixteen hour journey, halfway across the barren wasteland, to pay their respects to a home away from home – a home that comes as close as one can get to paradise on Earth. One must understand that this is no ordinary paradise, but a utopia where the circle of life brings you into the world each morning; where beer rains from the sky; where the most beautiful women show their bosoms for the gentlemen; where body shots are served with chocolate syrup; and where time stands still. Here, each of them are gods. It is only at this place that they can transcend to a level of drinking reserved for Dionysus himself. This is where brothers are made. However, this year is special because this will be their last visit together.
The brothers have finally arrived. As they step out of the car, each of them take a moment to bask in their surroundings, to breathe in and remember forever how they feel at this exact moment in time. The sky is clear and the Sun is now fully risen. A refreshing breeze in the air washes away the drowsiness and fatigue of the long drive. The warm rejuvenating rays of the Sun tickle their faces and recharge them with newfound energy. Down here, the air almost tastes sweet. What they see in front of them is a marvelous gulf with its waters made golden by the Sun. The fine grained sand beneath their feet feels like they are walking on silk. One of the brothers open the back of the car’s trunk to get to the cooler full of ice cold beer. He passes a beer to each of his brothers and without saying a word they hold their cans horizontally and puncture a hole on the bottom of the cans. In unison, they start the shotgun chant. It is tradition. And today was going to be a good day.
In memory of our special place. Take me back.