A note in Remy's scrawly dropout handwriting appears on the bar of the third floor lounge. It is accompanied by five bottles of alcohol that weren't there before: Nicaraguan rum, sake from Japan, a bottle of a good British port, a New Orleans area distillery's whiskey, and something in Greek lettering that smells like retsina.

"I've been picking up bottles when I go places, one for me and one for sharing. Who wants to get in on this?

Take a drink, leave a drink, and remember we got a lot of people very good at finding out secrets if you're a dumbass and don't share."

The note disappears for a few hours, a few hours after it's shown up. When it is returned, there is a three-quarter bottle of whiskey (familiar as one of the brands available in the commissary) to join Remy's exotic leavings.

There is also an addition, in a credible but imperfect mimicry of Remy's hand: I do not ever have much on my own, so I do not have much to share. But I will share it, and more when I get it.

The assorted bottles are joined by three more, one of Jack Daniels and two that are a not overly expensive or fancy but still drinkable Cabernet Sauvignon. There's also a note in Kendra's neat printing.


"I'm sharing instead of being a dumbass! All I've got for today, but I'll get some more stuff later. K"

A bottle of fairly good scotch and a half-dozen bottles of local beer join the pool, the latter in the fridge.

Pete's spiky scrawl joins the note parade: First one to bring back something none of us has seen wins.

Added to the current stash is a bottle of Bacardi spiced rum resting on top of a small note scrawled in sloppy handwriting.

Here. Sign me up.

An assortment of 24 bottles of beer from Quarry Brewing, LLC have made the trip home from Montana. Half are chilled, half are not.