Some prose

A man sat at a bar, holding half a pint in his right. Two-hundred and fifty milliliters of distilled excellence, made under Iron Law, the ten beer-brewing commandements. Only the clearest water and the finest hops and malt, joined together in brotherly love, could manifest this godly liquid of gold, the food of Gods. Dionysus said so. Then again it might've been Bacchus. He couldn't remember. The man took another sip. It occured to him that he lost his train of thought. Something about brothers, he reckoned. His brother, of course, died at a young age, as so tragically often happens. He regretted not actually knowing more about his little brother, other than remembering the fact of his death. He remembered other things though. He remembered the accusations, the throwing around of guilt. His older brother who had come from overseas. He even remembered his brother's words. Something along the lines of "This was a hit, no doubt". "We have to act on this, but I think we can actually turn this around and crush them. I know Astoria are planning to switch to fractional reserve, we can use this. Also Stand Oil is down due to that Nippon thing. No, I think literal death squads are too much, dad. Yes, because we don't have to become purely violent on this. Their MONEY!, dad. That is what hurts. You know that". He didn't really care. He was finishing his thesis on the value of gendered grammar in european languages, with a close look at the cultural, social and political implications on the use of gender as a linguistic tool. The faculty threw a shitfit, he remembered. The Duke did not appreciate the title, but he kept his manners. No, it was his philosophy teacher who was livid.