A gin with a twist as the cool evening passed
On a nice patio—is that too much to ask?
Apparently so. At the next table over
Was an unctuous trio who were well beyond sober.
“I don’t handle jealously well,” Brittany slurred,
At least that was her name after what I’d endure.
“His ex wants him back, so she told me they fucked
But she had an abortion when they had bad luck.”
“Oh my god, what a bitch!” spittled Paste Wax Beard Bro.
“You totally should have confronted that ho.”
“Girl, you are so much more hotter than her”.
Glassy-eyed Drunk Roommate blindly inferred.
“I know, rite?” said Brittany, “I’m mean, she’s just not.”
All she does—Oh my god!—is spread out her twat.”
“That’s why everyone hates her and she’s got no friends."
It was Drunk Roommates’ turn to chime in: “In the end,
We’re 'forever' you guys!” “Definitely!” burped The Beard.
“Hey, let’s get some shots at this bar on the pier!”
Though friends, Brittany got Beard to pay anyway,
With subtle, honed lies that it might get him laid.
Finally. Finally they crawled off the bar,
With me desperately hoping they’d get hit by a car,
Screaming “In Veritas Vino!” and other false quips.
Like three tracheal rectums all taking a shit.
———————
I’m told friendly drinking’s a bonding convention;
Drink by yourself and you need intervention.
But if drinking alone is a social negation,
Then why is it often the best conversation?