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A Devilish Tale

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A Devilish Tale

Some friends and I recently attended the Museum of Latin American Art here in Long Beach for a tequila tasting event. MOLAA alone is a beautiful modern structure, a simple, slightly scattered pile of geometric shapes; concrete, steel, pink, blue. Upon entry, and throughout the museum, we were greeted with beautiful music; an older couple dressed in all white serenaded us in the foyer, a DJ spun laidback Latin grooves in the main hall, and an outside stage produced young dancers and an all-female mariachi band that was more than I thought a mariachi band could be. And, of course, there were the tequila booths all about, and we ambled from one to another all night.

On the way back through (somehow I hadn't seen it on the way in), after imbibing some very good tequilas, all of which did nothing to change my distaste for it, we came across the booth for Kah. The booth was adorned with a painted skull, some three feet wide in diameter, an oversized replica of one of their bottles. My friends mutually agreed that the tequila itself was not that great, but I had a singular thought as I fixed my eyes on its container: Paul must have this bottle. And with that I began in earnest to obtain it.

I started with the obvious question in asking, "How much is the one with the devil?"

Turns out they were not selling any at this event. In fact, Kah, a brand in its infancy, was not for sale anywhere.

"But we'll be selling it soon," I was told by the college-aged godson of the artist who was manning the booth.

"Awesome!" I proclaimed. "Where?"

"Well, we're not gonna really be in any big stores yet, we're just kinda workin' on word of mouth, so you can't like find us in like your local liquor store or anything, but if you tell people about us and land an account for us, I'll totally get you a free bottle signed by the artist." He sounded completely unenthused about the whole thing. Never mind that if I landed them an account I'd be expecting, what is it, ten percent? I tried to get some more information out of him but really it seemed more like I was flooring the gas pedal on a sheet of ice. I refrained from asking him if he was twenty, a little jab and the only excuse I would allow him for not knowing anything else.

Following up later to try to find the bottle in some store somewhere, or calling them or checking their website (which isn't even up yet) to see where it was going to be sold, pitching them to my local liquor store, none of these things were going to happen. I don't possess that kind of follow-through. I only knew that I had to get that bottle, and now.

Frazzled, I went to my friends and complained about how stupid

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