And so it dawned the day where I felt a prick somewhere in my abdomen where my heart used to be and decided to air out the little frustrations that has been filling up the past few days, by gouging my senses with mind-altering substances – that being booze and greasy food.
It called for heavy drinking after work.

My friend, Berne, on the other hand, recently have been illegitimately issued a preventive suspension order from work. Tracy and Ron, both exhibiting pre-burn-out symptoms, all felt something must be done.

Great. So we all have something to celebrate for. *smug whoopee*

We all convened at the nearest, fairly-decent bar at the back of the condo, Carafe, where the buckets are cheap and the food assures you of a reserved bed in the ICU.

Eight hours of beer, pizza, prawn crackers and sisig, we started with the usual gossip of colleagues, made-up scenarios of fraud and scamming, to platonically discussing the economic stance of industries in specific, and the country’s impending economic image to the world market, in general. It was directly proportional. An increase in booze definitely awakened dormant feelings of social awareness. From Berne’s Environmental Influence theory, which explains that the lack of snow denies the aetas from wearing more than their bahags to Tracy’s philanthropic postulate on Opportunity where everyone one can be great if they want to. It was platonic alcoholism. Should have I known earlier, I would have turned alcoholic and be the next Edgar Allan Poe.

Revelations. Expectations. A shaky elevator ride.

The next day I was an apparition in floral pink. Blowdried and scrubbed to hide traces of hang over.
Right.