I love it when a seemingly normal Friday night spirals out of control and mutates into a full blown orgy of blood and hilarity.
Things were fine at the bar, everything you'd come to expect from an evening on the town; punk rock, babes, Jagermeister, pushing. It's what transpired the moment we left the bar that made it such a memorable night.
I don't remember exactly how it started, but an exchange of profanities began between Graeme and some hoods across the street. It escalated until one of them decided to run over and confront us. Turns out this man was far too intoxicated to be running. About halfway across the street he tripped over his own feet, was airborn for about half a second, and did a high speed nosedive into the road. I've never seen a human face hit pavement with such velocity In all my life. his face was literally flattened. Mangled. I will never be able to erase this image from my head.
And the noise it made.
Gives me the f**king willies.
On to happier, yet no less bloody, terrain.
Shortly after that incident we moved right along to (what's left of) the old infirmary. I know now that it is impossible for me to walk past an abandoned building while drunk without trespassing.
Over the fence we go.
Into the hospital we go.
The usual wandering and hurling bricks at windows ensues.
As most of you know, abandoned, half torn down buildings are dangerous places to be, especially while drunk. but what's even more dangerous are the massive fields of debris and twisted scrap metal that surround such buildings.
Walking was treacherous.
Especially for Graeme, who kept falling down on sharp things.
By the time we decided to retreat he had suffered a twisted ankle, a head wound, torn jeans and massive hand lacerations. His right hand was bleeding profusely all over his jeans and shoes. (And since the blood was mostly concentrated to the area of his jeans that was badly ripped, it gave his leg the appearance of having been hacked with a machete.)
It was around this time that a friendly Security Guard cautioned us that the Police had been called because of the disturbance at the old hospital (ie: us). He gave us a hand getting a bloodied Graeme over the fence, and since the authorities had been called, now was as good a time as any to duck into ye olde pizza shoppe.
Upon entering we were greeted with gasps and cries of concern. This made sense, because once he was in the light Graeme looked as if he'd been mauled by a cranky, robotic Grizzly Bear.
A slice of The Works would surely help.
At home, exhausted, we passed out watching Harvey Birdman outwit the insidious Vulturo in a dazzling display of legal agility and courtroom know-how.
Fast forward to the next afternoon.
Our superintendent gives a knock knock on the door. He's with two young ladies here to view the apartment for September.
I immediately apologize for the mess, as there are beer cans and potato chips strewn about the living room.
They were only in our place for a few minutes before leaving.
I wonder if they liked it?
It wasn't until after they left that we realized some of our walls and doorways had inadvertently been decorated with large smears and spatters of fresh blood.
I can assure you that we're good, sensible people.
Just not on weekends.