Night out

It's not often that I find myself out around the town centre in an evening. I always seemed to prefer the quiet drug taking environment of my own home. But when a dear friend asked me out to a 'pound a pint' night, how could I refuse.

Now for some facts that might make my night clearer. My alcohol of choice is whiskey, not beer. I like the slow on set of whiskey more than that snappy headrush drunk that beer causes. I like to be cold, especially whilst eating and drinking. I think this is more from ignoring the heaters when I was a child, and spending alot of time outdoors. I don't feel that comfortable in blistering hot temperatures, unless I am outside. Also, I feel the need to mention that I have always been a sociopath, ignoring and even shunning situations whereby I would be cast into the mental prisons that are the deafening crowds of babbling idiots. So why I thought this would be a good idea, I do NOT know.

I met my companion early, and we conversed for hours about the ins and outs of our everyday existence, the vandalism and the anti social behaviour that makes us more like everybody else. We walked and walked and, for no reason, ended up at his most humble abode. We sat and had some wonderful tea. If there's one thing I couldn't live without, it isn't whiskey, it's tea. Tea is my opium...well, opium is my opium but Tea is pretty f*****g close.

We met with some more bearable people later in the early evening and started the approach.. the approach to the end. I remember thinking whether these people really got me, or whether I was to be compared to Bez of the Happy Mondays, foaming at the mouth and moving irrationally. When we reached the bar, I was silently stunned. The mess sprawled on the street made this warlike, people crawling and clutching at your clothing, blood pouring from gashes that could only have been made by artillery shells. I kicked off an over fashionable victim of this conflict, and pulled open the heavy door, passing the two baboon like terrorisers who called themselves doormen, yet I knew it was their job to start the trouble. If the terrors outside brought me to shock, the visions of interior events would have caused me to crumble... if I hadn't taken myself out of the situations I was involved in.
There were over three hundred people in a bar that would barely accommodate two, all jostling for position to attract the attention of the barkeep, like rats jumping for a piece of cheese. Or a piece of rotting flesh, I can't decide which is more relevant. They all seemed completely oblivious to the fact there was fresh meat entering, for the time being at least. They just needed their fix. Their opium. But it wasn't reaching them fast enough.
The people were wearing a queer style of battle dress, and it was almost impossible to establish who was allied with who. They all seemed to have forgotten their allies for the time being in order to fight their own good fight to get their fill. My acquaintance jostled through, and, what with being of a bigger structure than the average mercenary, got our fix and brought it over to an enemy outpost we had procured from the smoking watchman. We were all quite relieved by his addiction, as there had been nowhere else to sit if he hadn't have had to leave.
We all dragged away at our foul tasting, but cheap, beverages, and soon enough were back amongst the mercs, fighting through the crowd which seemed to have grown more desperate, obviously they were in the grips of some sort of withdrawal, like that panic for air when being drowned.
This was the way things progressed for the next few hours. Our party got less and less as the time moved on, yet our conversations grew louder and louder, til there were two of us, just shouting at each other over the outpost while the mercenaries looked on in bewilderment. But I no more noticed this than knew what I was saying. It was just a feeling that whatever it was was relevant, and it seemed to do, as my companion seemed to respond warmly.
Suddenly, a moment of panic! Everyone seems to have left, and the baboons from the door are saying 'time to go, mate' Have we really been here that long? What the hell kind of time is it?! I have refused to wear a watch, as I think anything that tells me acceptable times to do things should be destroyed.
We leave, half thrown out, and stagger down the high street, desperately searching for another drink, or a taxi, whichever came first. Something came. It was the latter. Though I haven't seen my companion since.

Reviews

[Ani Ashford]

Wow... a bit of a chaotic jumble. Seems like you are very much a person who is not used to crowds, and the lens of experiencing the jostling, milling, voices and alcoholic stupors really is magnified. So.... I thought you liked Whiskey, er tea... perhaps tea is more civilized? Interesting writing. I will look forward to more of your stories.