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The bottle that never seemed to be completely empty, made a sound so distinguishable time can't erase. When my grandfather got up from his chair, he lifted his body and his bottle, as if it was a part of him. The sound of beer flowing inside a bottle and the sound of my grandfather's throat are tangled together for eternity in my memory. He never seemed to notice how shocking his first impression was, with his old clothes, old hat, old shoes, old face, old soul, old habits and new bottle. There never was a day where you would see him without being near to beer, not even when he visited his grandchildren, nor when he went to child parties. On some days, the bottle acted as a sleeping pill, wearing down the body of that old man. On some other days, the bottle acted as a reconnector, making him friendlier and inviting people to his house to spend the day. And in some other days, the bottle acted as a reminder of the life he had lost, according to my mother. Days where the only company he had was the bottle, days where he remembered his lost partner, days where the only company he had, needed and wanted, was the one he always gripped when he was with others. The smell of Tecate in his breath is something my nose still remembers, sometimes it was light, sometimes it was regular, but it was always present. I didn't understand him, sometimes he talked about things that made him smile, things that were simple, things that made a child smile, and sometimes he talked about things a child could never understand, things that weren't simple, things that made a child feel confused. I didn't understand him, not because I didn't want, but because I couldn't, and to this day, with immense heartache, hope to never do, because to understand an age-worn man, that had to live with so many miseries in his life, that had gripped with the same strength his wife's dead hand a nearly empty glass bottle, you have to live something similar. "The world is for the audacious" he used to say, and it was the last thing I heard from him when he drank the final drop of that glass bottle of beer. He died the same way he lived, sitting in his favorite place, with the people he loved, holding the now empty glass bottle of beer.