That’s the best part of the night, drunkenly wandering around the empty streets, hoping you have enough in you to make it to your own property, sometimes you make it, sometimes you sleep under a pedestrian swing bridge untill the sun comes up and you emerge out like a whisky soaked troll scaring the mid morning joggers.
That’s the best part of the night, drunkenly wandering around the empty streets, hoping you have enough in you to make it to your own property, sometimes you make it, sometimes you sleep under a pedestrian swing bridge untill the sun comes up and you emerge out like a whisky soaked troll scaring the mid morning joggers.
I once took a shortcut through a golf course, snoozed on the 11th green.
After enough pints, I have no memory of this place.