In my freshman year of college, alcohol was hard to come by. I went to a small school in Ohio called Kenyon which is situated a few miles from the nearest small town.
Three places sold beer, but only two were only accessible by car. The third, our own on-campus Village Market, was quick and severe with their carding policy, and also only sold watered-down, 20%-alcohol-content-and-under versions of desired drinks. They tasted like West Virginia tap water mixed with rubbing alcohol.
As a result, a black market emerged for illicit alcohol purchase, with the supply chain primarily dominated by upperclassmen.
But one of my classmates decided to take matters into his own hands. Armed with yeast, several jars, a funnel and the dark area under his bed, he began to produce his own — unparalleled — hard apple cider. It was like nothing we’d ever tasted: sweet, tangy and apple-y with hints of that under-bed goodness. Within hours of the first batch’s completion, the concoction was sold out. Campus was never the same.
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