1967 CLEON JONES TAB BOTTLE CAP
So imagine if you will that it’s 1967. You’re a happening guy/groovy chick. You’re in your pad, listening to the Airplane, tripping on some of Owsley’s finest.
The Baleroesque thrum of White Rabbit kicks in and just then you realize that you’re incredibly parched. After spending a few seconds contemplating the fact that thirst is, like, hunger’s little brother, you make your way to the refrigerator.
You open the door and squat in the glow of the small single bulb, contemplating your choices. The milk container is an oppressively heavy jug, with a red plastic strap spanning its wide mouth. Bad vibes. You push it aside, and a tall brown bottle catches your eye: Tab.
You pull out the bottle and grab an opener from the drawer. Placing the tooth of the opener under the rim of the cap, you press up. The top of the bottle cap bends inward slightly, until there is an immensely satisfying little whoosh. A small cloud of carbon dioxide gas crests over the rim ...