Day 17: Quaff

I know it's St. Patrick's day, but downing multiple beers is just not something that is familiar to me. Socrates, on the other hand...

The cup was carved from a block of wood, with a stout handle and a deep well. It seemed warm, and soft. Something that should comfort: full of hot chocolate on a winter’s night, with a thick blanket and a roaring fire.

The only comfort to be found inside was the comfort of an idea taken to its logical end. Comfort in bravery, or stubbornness; indistinguishable as always. A cold comfort, and not like the cup at all.

There were very few who could be trusted to execute themselves, but the ones in love with ideas were a sure bet.

As a side note, after reading the Wikipedia article on the trial of Socrates, I really want to write a "Socrates as Dark Knight/Batman" kind of story. Perhaps in line with my previous "Gangsta Socrates"? OMG. Gangsta-Batman-Socrates. Vigilante philosophy on the mean streets of Athens! Best. Thing. Ever.

Oh my, I am such a nerd. Back to making scatter plots.