[ There have been other kinds of indigence he has sentenced himself to, though liquorly ones are more easily denied and forgotten. There's a reason hosts serve the best wine first.

He thinks it's merciful to look away from her attempt to distance herself from the impression of a woman getting wasted on a picnic party (her words), noting the orientation of her pinky finger while knowing not to call attention to it. He's smiling anyway, biting the insides of his cheeks, placing his gaze solidly on the pink-mauve sky above. The extended hum he lets out is his way of making this (her) out to be some subject worthy of grave consideration. Worthy, the functional word here. ]

You look like the type who won't stand for no beer or warm beer.

[ Or vegan sandwiches or sugarless muffins or makeshift picnic rugs. ]

Or bad coffee. Sometimes it's a matter of suspending the disbelief. A little sugar can help with that.