...Or at least a story that happens to have "Beer Puddles as the headline:
Many of the Scuds had burst and spilled their contents and the tarmac was running with beer, sticky pools of the thick, cloudy beer forming puddles in the steep eroded cut-offs on the edge of the tar. Some of the crates must have shattered on impact and shards of blue plastic decorated what was rapidly turning into a frenzy in front of my eyes. From out of the bush in all directions people came running. They raced out into the road without even a glance for approaching traffic and feverishly gathered up undamaged Scuds and ran away with them. Some of the more adventurous people were cupping their hands and literally drinking from the beer puddles on the road, while others used tins and empty bottles to snatch a few mouthfuls. Stepping hard on my brakes to avoid hitting any of the manic beer collectors, I slowed as I passed the truck driver; the look in his eyes said it all: despair and a hopeless acceptance that he wouldn’t be able to save much of his cargo.
While Scuds is not the first name I would think for a beer, this story from Zimbabwe is both the dream of every undergrad and a vision from another world all together. A world where people hope for peace and political change but will take a beer truck going off the road to make their day a celebration.