Vortrinken at any cloth that some friends of mine somewhere knows. The supposedly cool Vortrinkgelegenheit becoming a loser even "Sit-In". I crouch in the corner and squint mixed alternately on the volume control on the system and my glass of alcohol with anything without ice. Four hours later we leave at last.
Now I sit again in this disco, a shit vergutbürgerlichten scale, trendy art. Young women in black minis and tights Täsch line with X on it (replace X with random imprint). These types around them jump, like young shepherd dogs. It's all a swirling mass of boring cunts and otters with apparently only one goal: get to know nice people. Torments me this Saturday Night Fever. The music makes me sick, I can not get anything to people, I'm not close enough I can not stand the DJ only occur from. He is filth no matter how much abkämpfen the boxes to the fat overdriven tarantino soundtrack to bring to the people. The amount selbstoszilierende finds it great and danced willingly they have heard so often that they can sing along to all tracks. The DJ gets stupid high for his heroism 20 thumbs. says female next to me, excited, with tipsy to a boy, T-shirt brand, Hollister, his friend with the same and has to eat such a shot-term well: "At last, music you know and not always the Avantgardmusikscheiß" and she's right. Finally no Avantgardmusikscheiß. But it falls well which fed my soul damned hard to be impressed by such high-bred sport horses to leave.
As I begin to know not just what's up and down, I find myself alone in a bar again, and am asked if I'm from the civil police even though I have already let the third piece of money mentioned in the damn jukeboxautomaten. When I noticed that my lone-wolf mesh these pub not piss off more impressed I am back home, fell a few times now and have deleted the snout full of bukowskischeiße soner meaningless. The bump on my head, the hole in my pants that graze on my hand, empty the account and the Lost Clock I notice until the next morning.
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