From 89-95, I was a Whyte Avenue bar regular, mostly the Strathcona and the Commercial, or the Strath and the Commie in the parlance. I met some great people there, still have good friends from the period, but also met some rather 'colorful characters'. One of these was Leisure Suit Larry, AKA Lightfingers Larry. He was a thief. He always dressed nice, so he could steal lots and not be suspected. The store dick isnt going to worry about the guy in the 1000 dollar suit. But the store dick didnt know Larry got that suit, along with half a warehouse of other clothes, in his only big score. He wasnt my friend as much as one of my bar/pool buds, Sam. Sam had a bit of a checkered past, bouncer at a shitty bar, earned his dough selling hash/weed from about age 14-26, then got his poop in a group eventually, is now a good teacher working in Asia.
He and I were roomies from 95-98, after my bar phase had petered out, but the occasional character would still drop by the pad. Christmas, 1995, Larry called, said he was coming over with a present. We were just chillin with a few beers and the cribbage board, movie on the TV.
Larry arrives, whips out a bottle of Mortlach Scotch Whisky, casked in 1945. At this time, there was a high-end liquor store on Whyte Ave, fancy shmancy, but shite security. With an 1100 dollar bottle of 50 year old Scotch within reach.
Larry mixed Pepsi in his, Sam and I were like 'NOOOOOOOO' and practically stole the rest of the bottle (no honor among thieves) and drank ours neat from some nice big square Luigi Bormoli glasses I had bought for a photo shoot. It was like liquid smoke, little hint of the peat bogs, old tarry rope, and a whiff of the sea on the wind.
We kept the bottle for a while, but when we parted company in 98, him to go to Korea to teach English, me to Manitoba to live in the bush, it went away.
Mortlach 1945, wont taste any like unless I win the lotto.
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