A group of four carefree friends (three whiter than white, the fourth a bespectacled African-American male who's apparently been shopping at Banana Republic) dine alfresco in the late summer sun, quick glimpses of a laughing upturned face, hands holding a large tasseled menu, a big bowl of bright colorful salad. Even the vaguely Mediterranean-looking waiter is smiling, their good spirits and zest for life clearly infectious. In the foreground a rumpled figure sitting alone at the dark bar, turning away from this outdoor scene to swallow his tumbler of bourbon in one gulp, his desperation for the oblivion it provides etched in the lines of his unshaven face.

"Why get drunk on joie de vivre when you have a bottle of Maker's Mark? Maker's Mark, for when you just want to get hammered alone."