Every spring, a competition is staged in the village to determine the best homemade rakiya in the region.
"Nazdrave!"
"To your health!" Vasil replies, lifting his shot glass to toast his cousin. He stares into Georgi's dark eyes for several seconds and says to him, "Thank you for driving down from Plovdiv."
"You thought I wouldn't come?" Georgi takes down his drink in a single gulp. "I wouldn't miss this for the world. After all, you will be the winner tomorrow. And this is what is going to win," he says, pointing to the clear glass bottle on the table.
"Another toast?"
"Another! We're just getting started!" Georgi shakes ash off his cigarette and hands his glass to Vasil for a refill.
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