Having a title like that you know it’s not going to be something good. I’ve had a couple of nights away from the party scene, so I’ve decided it would be silly of me to stay in an unprecidented third night in a row. Goodness that’s unheard of. It also happens to be the ‘Commie Disco’ tonight at a local club. As I understand it, this is where they play a load of old Czech Communist classics for you to ‘dance’ to. Apparently it’s one of the biggest nights of the week, the town descends on the club and everyone knows all the words to the old chants. It needs to be seen to be believed. I’m going with one of the girls who works at the hostel. Ahhh and there is the rub, dear readers, the penny drops, the turd curled on the stoop.
“Not in here,” she panics, glancing nervously around. “I know people in here.”
Beat.
Oh I see.
Beat.
No I didn’t.
The vague insult was lost on me (and quite frankly I couldn’t have cared less) as I marched her to where she didn’t know anyone; the ever-so-subtle locale known as ‘under a street lamp’, clearly away from prying, gossipy eyes and hearsay. There the Kat was let out of the bag, so to speak.
Now this could prove especially awkward as I’m not exactly fleeing the area anytime soon. She’ll be working early tomorrow and I’ll be lying, smellingly unconscious as she attempts to vacuum the room. It’s probably a good job I don’t get out of bed until two.
Shitting on ones doorstep
Having a title like that you know it’s not going to be something good. I’ve had a couple of nights away from the party scene, so I’ve decided it would be silly of me to stay in an unprecidented third night in a row. Goodness that’s unheard of. It also happens to be the ‘Commie Disco’ tonight at a local club. As I understand it, this is where they play a load of old Czech Communist classics for you to ‘dance’ to. Apparently it’s one of the biggest nights of the week, the town descends on the club and everyone knows all the words to the old chants. It needs to be seen to be believed. I’m going with one of the girls who works at the hostel. Ahhh and there is the rub, dear readers, the penny drops, the turd curled on the stoop.
“Not in here,” she panics, glancing nervously around. “I know people in here.”
Beat.
Oh I see.
Beat.
No I didn’t.
The vague insult was lost on me (and quite frankly I couldn’t have cared less) as I marched her to where she didn’t know anyone; the ever-so-subtle locale known as ‘under a street lamp’, clearly away from prying, gossipy eyes and hearsay. There the Kat was let out of the bag, so to speak.
Now this could prove especially awkward as I’m not exactly fleeing the area anytime soon. She’ll be working early tomorrow and I’ll be lying, smellingly unconscious as she attempts to vacuum the room. It’s probably a good job I don’t get out of bed until two.