It was a rainy night. A rainy Friday night. And as usual I met with my friends. Out for beer we went. I have never cared too much for the kind of place I go as long as the company brings something that loneliness cannot just give you. A good company is a good company in heaven and in hell.
It was 8 in the night. I was ready for drinking the night away. I was ready to create new moments and recall old stories. I was ready and so were all of my friends.
We met under the clock, near the tram stop. Quick smoked our cigarettes and teased each other in our own very sarcastic ways. Marketa had a bottle of white wine with her. She offered us to sip on it while we walked towards the stop. I took several hits despite the fact of having a strange dislike for white wine. It was 2009 and some of us talked about the summer hits. The new, the good and the bad.
Music talks were great when Marketa was around. She loved the Killers. In fact she loved a song by The Killers. I liked the band so we often played them on the jukebox. She also liked Oasis. Not just one song, but all of them. Probably the biggest fan of Oasis that I had ever met.
We were about 15 people. A cluster of eagerness and fading youth heading to a new place. As long as they had a jukebox and good beer the night would unroll nicely and easily.
We continued to drink from Marketa's sweet little bottle of wine while we were on the tram. And soon we were there. Magda and Erik rushed towards the door and we followed.
We entered a placed called The Cop Bar. I can assure you that all I was expecting was a place full of barflies and lowlife cops and maybe a couple of toothless hookers, but to my surprise and everyone else's the crowd was somewhat similar to us.
One beer, shouted Marketa.
One for me, said Erik.
I want a glass of wine, said Magda.
The rest of us ordered beer, like the good guys we were. The night had officially begun.
As we drank beer, shots and wine, Marketa would stand up, walk to the jukebox and insert a coin to continue playing her favorite Oasis song. It was about 10 pm and the I had begun feeling the booze in my system. I wanted to pee. So I excused myself and headed to the toilets of The Cop Bar. The toilet was tiny. It consisted of a sink, a urinal and a toilet seat. The urinal was being pissed on by some guy who in order to keep balance had leaned against his arm which was resting on the wall.
I then walked towards the toilet only to hear a warning from the pissing guy next to me.
I hate pissing in the urinal, he said
Hmmm right, I sighed
I said I hate pissing in the urinal, he mumbled again, they make them wrong and when I pee, my shoes get splashed with piss.
That is why you are leaning over the wall?, I asked
Nah, I am drunk and I pissed all over my pants, he said
Oh, well, you can always tell them you were washing your hands and the water pressure was to much that you got all wet.
That's a good one, I will use it next time, the guy zipped up and left the room.
Poor guy, I thought, he was too drunk that he pissed himself. I have to ask the guys if they have ever pissed themselves. I laughed inside silently. I shook my cock. Concealed it inside my boxers and zipped up. I had to wash my hands, not like that guy before me, what a dirty dude. I stood in front of the sink, I opened the faucet and the water came out stronger than I had thought splashing all over my pants. Yes, now it looked like I had pissed my pants, just like the other dude had. Karma works in mysterious ways, I thought.