I think it's number nine. Eight maybe. All I know is my face is slightly tingled.

"Another," she asks as she walks past me.

I give an affirming nod. She has to know I am nearing my limit, but I have learned to play this off well.

"You had the Green Line, right?"

I nod again.

The Cubs are on, and they are losing. Nothing new there.

A couple sits in the corner talking about important couple things.

Two friends sit the right of me, discussing how much their lives and the Cubs suck.

The glass ends up in front of me, and I missed her placing it down.

It's hot, and they have opened the windows to the front of the bar. A breeze tries to break into the room, but I am too deep in this beast to feel it.

The condensation on the glass is my only relief from this heat.

I sip. And by sip, I mean down a good third of the pint. It is good, but I simply placing that on recall of how the first three tasted. Or was it the first four?

"Boy, they are not playing well today huh?"

I stare at the bartender as she glances up to the television on the wall behind her.

"No, butwhat is new..."

"Yeah. Well, you know what they say?"

"What?"

"There is always next year."