I followed him through the halls of the enormous church until we got to the staff's kitchen. He went to the fridge, opened it, and came out with a bottle of bourbon. He poured some into a coffee cup, drank it down, and poured some more. He offered me the bottle.

No, thanks. Aren't you supposed to drink vodka?

Aren't you supposed to wear a pointy hat and ride on a flying broomstick?

Touche, I said.

Autore: Jim Butcher