The last drop

It’s a hot October afternoon. Global warming. My throat is parched. The ice caps are melting. I reach out for the last can of beer from the chiller. The globe is undergoing a new climatic phase of disaster. The air conditioner is humming drearily.
I pick up the newspaper and begin to read. Hurricanes. Kathrina & Rita. Always knew women cause havoc. But this spell of disaster is unnerving. I pick up the sweaty can, and take a long sip.
This is depressing. Let’s listen to some groovy music on radio. The RJ’s chirpy voice lightens the mood.
The ozone layers are depleting. Horns are honking. Tempers are flying. I switch off the radio. Another deep plunge from the can. I slump on the couch.
I hum to myself – He’s a jolly good fellow – feels nice. I bring out the guitar and start strumming some old tunes. The pace has picked up. Dedications going out to every person I can think of. I’m a better radio channel, I think.
My heart is light. I squint into the can for that last swig.
Suddenly, the lights have turned off. Another load shedding afternoon. I hold the can upside down; wait for that last drop to leave its cool metal abode, into my rounding paunch.