Apocolypse, No!

We dined in the breezeway
And met later in the carport for drinks
We rationed out the pills
Splitting evenly the blues and the pinks
We didn't really split the blues
I only mean that's what he thinks
He's got the mother lode this time
Why, o why are best friends such finks?
We met on the causeway
Unloading all our grievances there
He pat me on the shoulder
And I playfully ruffled his hair
Then brought him to the waterline
And constrained him while he struggled for air
Then I pulled him back and kissed
And we both went arm in arm to the fair