buckets and bottles

f was hoping that bottles of beer should lift him up from the dredges he was feeling then. he had two already before g arrived. they ordered two buckets of six more. they both appeared they came from a big mess... a big messy unsure and directionless life, g initially mustered to say to officially break the silence of bottles talking. they were headed either to an elevated positivity or to a deeper depression. either way, beer should make them feel, their mood, heightened. since both were feeling rock bottom, g thought they had nowhere to go but feel even downer.


maybe by being there, they will see some semblance of positivity to uplift their wearied souls, a rope of light to grab on and carry them away from their sullied or defiled pit-hole. it must be three bottles speaking. and five bottles for f listening. and they were to spiral further down to g's sixth and f's eight and a multitude of concerns they could file and defile on their beer table.

the hot sauce claimed it was spicier. it was not, even after almost emptying half the bottle of the paste to a sizzling plate of sisig. the kick was faint, and should have claimed sweetest and saltiest red paste. and cappuccino to cap a confused state of sleepiness and wakefulness.