The mouse

It was black and shaped like a computer mouse, and Rock rolled it back and forth on a card table. He hadn't played cards of any sort in at least twenty years but sat in the back room of a house at a family reunion attempting to justify his purchase of this device designed to enhance the chance of success in a game of poker.
He was joined by a sixty-year-old gray-haired man, dressed in black jeans and a crewneck sweater, who looked exactly like NBC reporter Keith Morrison.
"Those things work really well," he told Rock. "But why do you fidget with it so much? That will wear it out in a hurry, and I know how expensive they are."
Rock explained that his behavior with the mouse was a byproduct of his high-strung nature.
The man left for another engagement, and Rock walked to the living room to rejoin his father, stepmother Lilian, and several aunts and cousins to try the beer the gray-haired visitor brewed.
"I hope y'all like it," he had said. "I'm proud of it."
Someone poured a pint or so of it into a Mason jar and dunked it in an aquarium filled with water and ice cubes.