I wanted to move on, she wanted to stay. Or at least
wait. She had a friend still inside and wanted to make sure she was okay and had
a way of getting home that wouldn't see her molested or regaining consciousness
in a gutter by the side of the road at 6 o'clock in the morning when the
milkman made his route past her. She was a good friend. But it left me in a
dilemma as I really needed to get moving. Nature called.
As much as I love booze, at times it is not my friend.
Taking more effect on my body than on my mind, I could feel it pressing down on
my bladder and making an overly desperate attempt to escape. An unwanted bid
for freedom by my body's unwanted fluid. Now was not a good time. I had to let
it loose and I didn't want to lose the girl. There was no way I was going to
sit with this feeling on a bus back to wherever we were going to end up and I
sure as hell didn't want to be waiting - hopping from one foot to the other - for
her friend to finally come out of the club. Life would be so much easier if I
was just allowed back in to the club to drain. The bouncers were having none of it. They
had worked far too hard to get anyone and everyone out in the first place that
they weren't going to jump at the idea of undoing that by letting anyone back
inside. I had to be the dirtbag. I had to find a private place in public.
My first question was "where to go?" The club
spilled out into a trash-filled, dirty, little side-street and usually that
would be enough. It would be a haven for the deed I would need to bestow upon
the world. It wouldn't be a problem, either; it rained enough around here to
wash the streets clean of any binge-drinkers' bile and filth. Being a side street
wasn't enough though. There were the masses. The runts and the fuckwits. Drunk
with no place to go. Just hanging here, there and everyfuckingwhere they could
lay their feet to save themselves from having to go home. Some too drunk to
leave. Some too desperate. Well, I needed to wade through this bunch of pricks,
scenesters and wannabes and find myself a place to let rip. Every little alley
and sub-road that led off this back-street was full. Kids chatting. Kids
copulating. Kids dragging on weed and kids vomiting. There was no place left
for me. No place except one road. One little diversion from the party. One
little route to privacy. I'd nip down there. Nip down my flies. Let all hell
break loose and then find the pretty girl again, in time for her friend to
arise. Simple.
Little did I realise that where I was pointing was in
fact the entrance to the car park of a nearby police station. It was dark, how
was I supposed to know that's what it was? Where were the signs? In my
ignorance, I didn't react to the car pulling slowly down the backstreet. I
merely turned my back a little to try to save myself a little dignity. It
wasn't until I took a startled double-take that I realised the nature of the
mechanical beast bearing down upon my call of nature. The lights on top were
a dead giveaway and triggered my deadly panic in the dead of this night. I
tried to stop myself midstream but knew that was no good. I could at least
hobble away and try to drain the last of it as I escaped. There'd be the masses
back around the corner. I could disappear amongst them. The beer was cold
tonight and plentiful. It had taken its toll completely on my bladder and at
this moment it was relentless. I couldn't stop. It wouldn't stop. I felt the
firm hand on my shoulder that would spin me around. I tried desperately to hold
it in. It wouldn't stop. It would never stop. It splashed - it poured - freely
on to the shoes of the, at first unimpressed but now irate, police officer's
shoes. At this point I realised it would take a lot of charm and sweet-talk to
get me out of this one. It was time to bid the pretty girl goodnight.
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