This morning I went to the new Publix liquor store to take a look around. As I browsed, I noticed a woman enter, nice looking, about my age maybe (but could’ve been younger, or older, who knows), long black leather coat. She could have been any upper middle class south Tampa housewife.

She went right to the counter and asked the clerk for a pint of whiskey. Then reconsidered and asked if he had a “half”. No.

I watched her. She seemed such an unlikely person to buy a half pint or pint. I wondered if maybe she were cooking with it.

The clerk gave her a few choices, she shrugged and said: “It’s not for me, so just give me your cheapest.”

He brought a pint of something, rang it up and said, “That will be $6.19.”

“Six dollars? I don’t have it.” She backed away from the counter clutching some singles, stood there a minute, thanked the guy and left.

After she left, I couldn’t help but think about her. It made me sad.

I’ve bought liquor many times, and often “not for me,” but never felt compelled to say that.

What does an alcoholic look like?

She looks like you or me.