Pub-crawling

And so it's friday night, you walk off your place and gets in the street. You are about to meet friends for a nice dinner out, you're in real good mood. But then someone comes towards you with a baseball bat and smashes your head. You fall on the pavement. You see a thousand stars dancing in your head. You're stun. And when you wake up, you're in Kettering, East Midlands, England. What do you do next?

First you go to the Earl of Dalkeith. It's off the main street opposite the pizza place, you can't miss it. The definite place for a friday night starter. Hundreds of guys carrying hundreds of pints, talking loud but still under control. Under your feet, a nice carpet. Above your head, a mighty roof. And all around you, men and women sharing their views on the next Irish band. This pub is the cheapest in town, so you drink up a couple of Carlings and then you go out for a smoke. A 12 year-old teen tries to get in the place, the bouncer asks for her ID, she shows her mum's driving licence and he lets her in.

Then you go to the Watercress, just a few steps further down the street. A massive bloke serves you at the bar a pint of San Minguel. This pub is very quiet. A couple of bar-hopping hotties tease eachother and you cant' but notice them. They're definitely in their thirties, maybe in their forties. You go and ask them politely how much they charge for one night and they tell you to piss off. You take shelter in the garden and light yourself another fag. They follow you and scream at you, you're a bit scared now and so you leave.

Your third stop is the Cherry Tree. A traditional english pub serving traditional english ales. You stand at the bar since there is not seat, and the guy next to you starts a conversation about De Gaulle. Nobody listens to him but you, you find it quite interesting. He's totally pissed, that's for sure. But you're not exactly sober yourself. You order a pint of Guiness and think about spending the whole evening there. But then a terrible smell of shit and organic decay lands to your nose. Someone just farted and you don't want to know who it is. Time to move on.

The streets are busy now. Everybody is kind of pissed and fights arouse here and there. Someone lies on the ground, he's got blood on his face. He asks you for a cigarette and you drop one. He's completely at sea and he cannot even catch it. He says "Cheers, anyway" and you keep on walking. The Peacock is awaiting you now.
Inside the pub, a bunch of girls with bunny ears dance and drink blue cocktails with 120% sugar in it. Some bald stocky guy gets near and squeezes their tits one by one. They let him do and even laugh. So you try do the same, but the result is quite different. One of the girls spits in your face, another one kicks your balls. And then you remember Jarvis Cocker's lyrics : "Nobody wants to be your friend cos' you're not from round here..." and you walk off the pub before it turns ugly.

The Prince of Wales is your last chance. The last place open in town. It's so packed inside you can merely move. Oxygen has been replaced by beer fumes. You manage to get to the bar and wait 20 minutes for the barmaid to take your order. You say "vodka", she says "what?", you say "vodka" again, she says "Ok" and you just realize it's so noisy in there that no one would hear a trombone. You're so drunk that you're eager to socialize at any cost. So you go to the dance floor and move your ass on Blondie's Heart of Glass. But then you slip on someone's vomit and fall. The problem is you fell at the start of the next song which is a punk one. Those ready to pick you up are now trampling on you. You suffocate, you scream and then you die.

When you wake up, the guy with the baseball bat is still there. He smiles at you and leaves. You call your friends and tell them you won't make it tonight. They ask you why and you reply: "I think I've just met Santa Cruz."