Crazy night in Dullsville part IX
July 19th 2010 09:46
Part nine: Break a leg
Amazingly we don’t get kicked out but being banned from alcohol is not fun at this late hour.
So we decide to make a move. However our group has grown considerably larger since we arrived. Insanity is magnetic, or so it appears.
We’re joined by two relatively attractive ladies in their late 30s, who I consider milfs but then again I’m off my nut and it’s too dark to gauge their faces. A tall pommy bloke around the same age appears to be cracking onto one of them.
Our now large group is wandering in the cold air, apparently off to a house party for more drinks and trouble. It is hard to walk in this state. Not physically, like when you’re stoned and don’t have any energy or not being able to walk straight after a boozy session. Being on acid feels light on the feet and it is a journey into oblivion, with no end in sight. Where am I going again? Where the hell am I?
I can’t remember starting this walk. Maybe it won’t end.
Roy and Ray wandered off ahead, while the milfs and the Pom were hanging back. It is hard to know if the Pom was trying for a threesome or was walking slowly because he was totally inebriated.
I was in my own world, overcome with a tinge of paranoia.
“Where’s Roy,” says Rob.
He catches me by surprise. I didn’t even notice him approach me. I had completely forgotten about him for the past few hours.
It was a good question. Where the hell was Roy? And Ray for that matter.
Looking around, I notice a couple of shadowy figures running around a park, about 50 metres away.
It has to be them. What other lunatics would be running away at this odd hour? I understand everyone is fitness obsessed these days but going for a run at 3am is a bit nutty. Running around smashed on booze and acid is more plausible.
“Let them be. I’m sure they won’t listen to us,” I tell Rob.
We keep moving, following a few shadows in front of us, who hopefully are Roy’s friends leading us to our salvation.
My thoughts are interrupted by a shriek from behind.
It’s Roy, who has his arms around Ray and the French guy. He is either so drunk he can’t even prop himself up or he has injured himself.
“I’ve broken my leg,” Roy slurs.
“How?’
Ray interjects. “We were running the Kokoda Trail.”
“Obviously you guys didn’t finish.”
Fortunately, our destination is nearby.
We are led into a small house and inside is flash and futuristic. I feel bad. Drunken idiots like Roy, Ray and I shouldn’t be let into a home containing flash furniture, expensive knick knacks and a spiralling staircase that should be deemed hazardous in our state.
I’m suddenly extra cautious.
Eventually Roy finds the couch and starts playing the guitar. He’s amazingly good in this state. Ray and the Pom are back to drinking like fishes and chatting up the Milfs.
The owner of the house, an arty 40-something year-old, puts on a 70s dance track and wants to jiggy with Rob and I. She’s fun and obviously extremely hospitable but a bit too vintage for me.
“Come on guys lets dance,” she says.
Roy jumps up, and hops around on one leg, waving his hands manically. I can feel his pain, even though the alcohol and drugs have probably numbed the aches.
Rob’s had enough. “I’ll call an ambulance mate,’ he says.
“Yeah, I need to tune my guitar,” says Roy, who stumbles back onto the couch and plays another tune.
Another hour or so passes and I’m in a surreal state of mind.
But I feel the effects of the acid start to diminish and now reality has started to rear it’s ugly head. How the fuck am I going to get home? I don’t even know where I am.
“We’re catching a taxi, do you guys want to come?” asks a Milf.
Was I thinking aloud? Or is she mind fucking me? Maybe she has mystical powers? Shit, clearly the acid is still working wonders.
“Yeah, great. Where are you going?”
“Kwinana”
Shit, probably the furthest suburb from where I live.
“Sounds great.”
Did I just say that aloud? Is my brain now dead? Had it lost all function? Clearly Rob and I did not need a trip to Kwinana, aka home of the rat tail, at 4am.
Arghh, fuck it, might as well go the full hog. This night has been one spiralling journey into decadence, a drive to boganville with three strangers sounds like a nice way to end it.
| 129 |
| Vote |
subscribe to this blog
