She knocks at my door. I answer.
“I’m a bootlegger,” she said and thrust a gallon jug with a sunny liquor in my hands.
The homemade label says, “Limoncello. Enjoy!” The top looks like a jam jar.
“Cleaning out the house for my move. I found it in a corner, but it should be good.”
I hugged her, “Damn. Now I’m really sorry to see you go.”
She laughed and left just as quickly as she came. “… so much to do…”
“Thank you and good luck!”
I made a lemon drop martini before you could say “Lemonade.”