Being ever the good boy I am, I rode my bike to fetch a PBR and half-priced nibbles yesterday. This trip involves passing by Central Prison, and you know that's always the delight for me, what with getting to wave to so many relatives.
On the way back, I found this can koozie in the grass by the prison sidewalk. I suppose someone lost it while out on a walkabout.
It certainly won't handle the manly 24-ounce cans (e.g., Four Loko) that I usually get, much less a 40 of Cobra, but it'll be just fine for the daintier, and perhaps more genteel, element that occasionally visits the lake with me. Now to just remember about the pinky.