Passing out on people’s lawn is a talent!
WHO: Feliks, Aidan, anyone else...?
WHEN: Just after the bars close on Monday, October 5th
WHERE: The front lawn of one Feliks Łukasiewicz
WHAT: Feliks' milkshake brings one particular drunk to his yard
RATING: Uh well, F-bombs. They will be dropped.
Ding, ding, ding--
Last call.
Aidan scrambled to the bar, fighting dozens of other patrons rushing to get their last drink before the bar closed. The night had been particularly good in terms of refraining from getting into trouble. He hadn't been bitch-slapped nor had he gotten into trouble with big burly men.
Or maybe he had. It was getting particularly difficult to remember anything when his mind was fuzzy from all that alcohol he consumed.
After finishing his last pint (how unfortunate that it couldn't have lasted longer), Aidan stumbled out of the pub, singing loud enough to rouse the dead from their graves. It felt as if the whole world was twisting and turning under his feet and, fuck, how much did he drink? He must have really outdone himself. Nevertheless, Aidan merrily danced his way home, although it looked more like he was tripping over his feet than anything else.
The sound of a dog barking nearby abruptly put an end to his tune. Perhaps a little too overconfident about his abilities to function properly while inebriated, he walked full force into a lamppost.
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Aidan howled, stumbling back a few steps. He felt like the whole world was tipping over but managed to get out a final "fuckin' langers puttin' up objects in the middle of the fuckin' footpath! Fuck!" ...before a misstep sent him falling back onto a plot of grass.
He promptly passed out.
WHEN: Just after the bars close on Monday, October 5th
WHERE: The front lawn of one Feliks Łukasiewicz
WHAT: Feliks' milkshake brings one particular drunk to his yard
RATING: Uh well, F-bombs. They will be dropped.
Ding, ding, ding--
Last call.
Aidan scrambled to the bar, fighting dozens of other patrons rushing to get their last drink before the bar closed. The night had been particularly good in terms of refraining from getting into trouble. He hadn't been bitch-slapped nor had he gotten into trouble with big burly men.
Or maybe he had. It was getting particularly difficult to remember anything when his mind was fuzzy from all that alcohol he consumed.
After finishing his last pint (how unfortunate that it couldn't have lasted longer), Aidan stumbled out of the pub, singing loud enough to rouse the dead from their graves. It felt as if the whole world was twisting and turning under his feet and, fuck, how much did he drink? He must have really outdone himself. Nevertheless, Aidan merrily danced his way home, although it looked more like he was tripping over his feet than anything else.
The sound of a dog barking nearby abruptly put an end to his tune. Perhaps a little too overconfident about his abilities to function properly while inebriated, he walked full force into a lamppost.
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Aidan howled, stumbling back a few steps. He felt like the whole world was tipping over but managed to get out a final "fuckin' langers puttin' up objects in the middle of the fuckin' footpath! Fuck!" ...before a misstep sent him falling back onto a plot of grass.
He promptly passed out.