It had started, like most bad ideas, with a simple drunken suggestion. The two of them lounging together and partaking of the toxic brews John had produced and idly chatting about all manner of things.
Thus leading to their current predicament.
John tripped over the wood that Wayne dropped and staggered a few feet and up-heaved his own load of wood all over the ground.
Shhhh. Shhhh, we got'sa be quiets. They're gon wake uppp. The midday sun shone down strongly upon the pair of drunken fools. The shadow of a stately old apple tree stretched wide over them, leaves rustling gently.
In lieu of picking up his dropped wood, he took a long drink from his skin whilst Wayne tried heftily to remember where and what his thought processes were before they ground to a halt.
No.. nono sss gon be okay -- sss fine. Wayne fell into the pile of wood and nails and John wheezed and spewed moonshine out of his nose.
Fuck thas burnns. Muthafucka. Alright, c'mere... He wandered over and grabbed ahold of his drunk brother, and heaved. Hard enough that he yanked Wayne up onto his feet and then right back off of them again.
From beneath the heavier man he mumbled,
Mista Wyatt, ah don think ah like yer in that manner. For expediency's sake, John gave Wayne's ass a squeeze anyway, just for luck.