Once a junkie…

Mark once told me, whilst I was bemoaning the fate of olive oil in popular opinion since the event of store-bought "pure" blends, that he saw me in another life as an evening alcoholic, downing glasses of fancy wine alone in the dark. I cannot remember exactly how I answered him—something awkward and meaningless—because I was shocked that he had come so close to the truth. How could I tell him that while I am sure that if I did imbibe it would only be blood-red estate-bottled stuff, probably Californian, but depressants aren't really my thing. I go for uppers.