And maybe it's just the combined effect of four adults, or the combined effect of four somewhat encumbered adults or the combined effect of four somewhat encumbered adults letting themselves off the hook at the end of every day, but household production of empty containers that used to hold beer, wine, and/or spirits is going strong, seemingly impervious to storm activity in the economy.
These containers fill a bin under the sink, and when the bin is full, we all take turns balancing more containers on top. It's Booze Jenga, the Jenga of Booze, and finally, when something tumbles and clanks, well, it's time to ferry the empties to the garage, where there's a whole other Booze Jenga, a cache of truth in the form of glass and aluminium shells.
In the absence of bad behaviour or knock'em down, drag'em out fights, it's really a heavy moment. Looking upon The Empties. In their emptiness. Collecting, definitely not organizing, or doing anything else, along the wall of the garage. For some reason one is not reminded of glorious cocktails, grape-enhanced meals, or the effervescent relief of a glass of barley and hops. One is merely shown HOW MUCH.
It's sobering, if only because one senses that things are not about to change anytime soon. And beyond the garage, in the great wide world, there's an illogical argument for the perpetuation of the whole works: a handful of cash, for the emptiness, and then more beauti-full containers, seductive, unconsumed product, impossibly unconnected in our minds to the sad sight they'll become.
Bagz o' Tall Cans Smellin'.
Overpacked, Bulgin' Boxes o' Big Bottles, Clinkin' So Eagerly.
Cases o' Beer Emptees, With The One Brokin One Missin' and Some Other Emptee Rammed In Place.
And Evidence Of Mouse Partyin'.
