3AM, the magic hour.

The sting of vodka filled my nostrils again as the potent venom filled my mouth. Each time the harsh-gut wrenching liquid touched my lips I wanted to puke. I had never been a fan of Vodka, but in this late hour it seemed it was a fan of me. Filling my head with visions and sights I had never before thought about it enticed me to wonder what dreams may come, if only for the brief and fleeting moments before the dawn. The liquid fire moved down my throat and set me ablaze with a longing and desire that I had only read about in carnal novels, or maybe once in Dante's travels through the Inferno. Could this one thing be the rise and fall of so many men or nations? Could this clear and stinging liquor be the undoing of civilizations? Could this elixir lead to dreams and worlds untold? As the magic hour sat in and I reeled from the haze of drunkeness I couldn't help but think "Yes, perhaps, someday the bright shining ocean of an island in the sun would once again entertain such a sodden excuse for a man. And on that day, I will sing with a voice so loud: Wheel in the sky keeps on turning!"