The Last Crusade: Part 2
We left the expensive perv pit to go to a cheaper place in which gents didn't forget where their hands should and should not go. As we entered this fine establishment, it became quite clear that the night was getting to its last legs. The creeping feeling of sleepiness had set in and was brandishing itself over the alcohol ridden horizon. This, however did not stall me in my quest to destroy my own body, liver first. For some unholy reason I decided it would be a fine idea to by shots. Then some more. Then just a few more.
This had all of a sudden turned into a LMFAO song featuring Lil' Wayne. The shots were toppling, straight into my neck. At first this was not having much of a profound effect but as the inevitable happened and the parting of the pack was upon us, it did. The fresh air acted as the instigator, rushing in and attacking my sobriety levels. We all wandered up the hill as I rang myself a taxi, not an angry black cab for me this time. There was talk of fried chicken based goods, yet my stomach had now begun to turn and I decided against the week old grease filled chickeny goodness. The text message said that the taxi was on its way, good no problems with cars this time, even better as the heavens had indeed decided to open in a flurry.
I saw it! Sitting, majestic, waiting to be the proprietor of home and bed. Awash with surprise that it had been so quick, I left the group waving cheery byes and thankyou's for such a weird yet socially acceptable night. I entered the taxi.
Before my bottom had even touched the the leather quilted seats (who invented that look, its not a good look) the man in the front said, "It's not for you". I failed to see how he knew this as I hadn't informed him of any of my vital details; name, address, blood type, favourite movie...
I asked him how he knew, he turned and sneered, "well unless your name is Adeel, it aint for you". Its undeniable that I do not look like an Adeel, so I slid across and exited the car. A ten second journey that got me nowhere and I was back out in the stormy conditions.
I decided to go up the stairs of which I was waiting for the taxi. A better viewpoint, like some drunken, sodden watch tower. This at first caused no problems, up until I did indeed see what was undeniably my taxi this time. Somebody was attempting to high jack my taxi like a take away fueled Dick Turpin. Its only at this point that I realized my mistake in coming up the stairs. The drink had not socked a hit not unlike Tyson in his prime and well, getting back down the stairs was going to be a struggle.
Only a little one before the conclusion, part three of three next.....
See you soon
