Be careful not to get trampled

I made my way through the herds of alcohol drenched zombies, glancing occasionally through the open bar doors that allowed the potent mixture of poor live band sounds and drunken rambling to filter out into the street, momentarily crippling my ear drums. Gaggling groups of girls would gingerly navigate their path through the hysteria looking as though each one was on the brink of losing balance as she walked a tightrope.


Their high-heels clunked and clicked like hooves on tiles as they’re ushered onto the various dancefloors and the males behaved like impatient bulls. Awaiting slaughter.

It’s not amazing or shocking. Distressing and sickening are words more befitting the scene. You have to be in an altered state of mind to enjoy this shit. You might even blend in. Put a loser in a decent suit, feed him three pints and he’s closer to being the Führer than the useless degree-devaluer that he’ll be the next day. Bizarre. We’re all assholes from time to time. That’s life. What annoys me are those unrepentent pricks who make it a vocation.

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