Every night, I enjoy a fine cold Steel Reserve. My stomach unkempt and irritated, I walk through the forest and chug it just like my memories and dreams half remembered. With each pint, another prayer goes through. Prayers for a STEEL COLD BEER, prayers for a STEEL COLD MIND, prayers for HEALTH through the SICKNESS. I RESERVE all my STEEL nerves for those occasions when people tug at my nerves, when the sea of my mind is all awash in drugs from the vanity cabinet. What would have my Grandfather enjoyed, by the bar, 50 years ago? STEEL RESERVE, undoubtedly. What would the men betting on dogs and rats in the dank alleys enjoyed, hoping the distant naval future of their life would pan out? STEEL RESERVE.