A friend and I got together over a bottle of drink and a shared meal of chicken patties and sweet bread. I think it was day-old, though still good and filling. I couldn’t complain. We have gone back and forth on many points of discussion and agreement that night: past experiences, people we last talked to, friends who are too good and those who can’t make the cut and the definition of the term “in-between-jobs.” It was a fun night.
I believe that they are enjoying their life as a married couple. It is a life they shared with their son. I was blessed enough to be there to celebrate their union and their son’s coming into the religious world. As a past-professional who used words for a living, I can’t quite figure out how to put my thought process on this thing. I am just proud and happy to see them enjoying their current status.
The night started with a glass of chocolate vodka. He said it reeked of drink and apologized for the apparent ratio. It was nothing to worry about. I didn’t come for the drink... those of you who have followed this ‘acrid’ blog would know that I just lied. It was a good mix, I ought to make something like that one of these days. We shared the dim night with a few more swigs of the stuff and went on with our like-minded take on the topic of intermediate school and the people and doctrine that filled it. We could swear that we would have ended up way different than what we are now had we gone to the same campus in college. We shook our heads to the possible outcomes.
He’s a freethinker – though not the kind that shunned deities or religious beliefs. He just took things into stride and made use of aspects that would best set him a good view on things. We should’ve known each other more in the last seven years. It would be a huge relief to have a fellow spirit. He’s a shot away at being in a better disposition than me. I’m a walking spent shell.
The drink went on and we couldn’t clink glasses, we used just one glass to fill our already warmed up guts with more drink. Nostalgia sets in. We used to drink this clear blue stuff more back in the day. Feeling old gets old. It’s a good thing we can’t go back, that’d be too easy and stupid.
Hipster couple. That’s what I called them. Talented writers, too. Now, they're a domesticated hipster couple with a charming son. They quipped that no one ever really tells them from whom their son took after. “They always say it’s a mix.”