Breathe
My beer, a chocolate colored ale with banana bread notes, was perfectly chilled. The bright midday sun streamed through what amounted to a large glass-paneled garage door warming my back and lulling me almost into a dreamy haze. My wife sat across from me at the tall cocktail table whose top was littered with syrupy glass rings surrounding a stack of obviously unused paperboard coasters, sipping her frosty Kolsch. Hillman Beer, one of so very many brew pubs in and around Asheville proved to be the perfect spot to break this spell that's been haunting me for so long now. Our conversation began as a couple took a table across from us, their half German Shepherd/half gray wolf nudging us at the end of her leash for attention. London was her name, the man told us, and she ate up the attention of strangers. "We'll stay where we are for the time being as long as you're happy with your job," my wife said. "Are you sure you'll be okay co