Gulped

She gulped down half her tea in one mouthful.

Mary gulped down a tall glass of orange juice.

Hari gulped as the shadow of the towering giant enveloped him.

Tom gulped down the juice.

I went later than usual, after noon, to the Lulu Island pizzeria on the greyish 23rd of March of 2022. At the cashier, in front of me, were handsome Mormon proselytizers, one thick and the other thin, ordering pizza. They had ties and eyeglasses on. Facing away, at the counter, the thinner one, still waiting for his order, sat to the left of the thicker one, already devouring his pizza. From his pizza, the thicker one handed the other a pineapple chunk, which he gulped. Metaphorically, they were like Lojban and Esperanto, or Animism and Buddhism, maybe. I ate two slices and drank a diet coke at my usual northwestern corner. A woman reminiscent of my mother came in to order. Maybe, my mother was like the pagan Earth Mother Goddess for some.

The rider untied a water bottle from his saddle and gulped down a few mouthfuls.

I gulped it down.

He gulped down a morsel of bread.