You drink wine, especially if you are a cheap drunk. I am a cheap drunk. So, after a sleepless night and a run to the airport (to pick up the second piece of luggage that had remained, mysteriously, in Detroit, even as the other suitcase went to Norfolk—while I went to Richmond airport), a side trip to Food Lion netted two bottles of wine: port and a Shiraz. Since the port is guaranteed to knock me out, that’s what I’m drinking in the middle of the day. Unfortunately for me, all I’m getting is the fuzzies.