Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Bar scar

Ok, it's finally time to end this overly long story.


Nasser is taken to the police box and everybody there gives a statement. I try to plead ignorance but Nasser assures me it's completely meaningless so I write down my name and address as incorrectly and illegibly as I can manage. It transpires that Nasser has some kind of disease – he doesn't appear to have any physical disabilities, so I can only assume it's of the tragic die-young variety – and he is let off with only a warning.

Everybody congratulates each other on our fairly pointless but incredibly skillful show of pretending I don't speak Japanese.

We resume drinking. I reflect on the situation and decide that if my life were a Japanese drama, and this were episode one, and I were the main character, I would end up dating Gyrau Groupie. Unfortunately Nasser has also played such a large role tonight that he would necessarily be a second-tier main, so I'd be getting caught up in his stupidity all the time. Ultimately we realise the trains are now running so we decide to call it a night. Amusingly, the same police we'd just been dealing with are now trying to coax a collapsed drunk back to life.

Haha. Oh, wow. It's Chinese.
You'd think I'd stop taking clandestine photos after what happened earlier. Nope.
Another hour ensues as we announce that we will take responsibility for this complete stranger. Incredibly, the police are satisfied with this. We spend another 45 minutes making a five-minute walk, half-carrying Chinese to a karaoke place where we figure we can set up shop and get him some much-needed rest. I jump in and do most of the heavy living, because story of my goddamn life. By the way, have I ever mentioned that I'm pro at taking care of drunk people? I totally am, because I understand what they want and how to trick them into thinking they're going to get it if they do what I say. Just as we're reaching our destination, Chinese slips.

He's been berating us for stupidly helping us out when we should just let him die, so I don't know if the next part is intentional, but it doesn't matter anyway. But holy shit. His hand seizes the back of my neck. I'm not 100% sure what happens here; surely it has to do with the fact that he has almost his entire body weight on the most fragile part of my human body, but I think he must have also gotten hold of a nerve or otherwise something very important.

I'm overwhelmed by the urge to punch him in the face. I ignore it. I cry out. I cry out harder. I cry out extremely hard. I clamp my eyes shut. He stumbles away. I stumble away.
Worse than it looks.
I wobble towards Subway, moaning. I smash into the window and use it for support. Oh my god. Holy fuck. Ok. Ok. Oh god. Maybe a few tears slip out. Or maybe they don't. Ok maybe they do but fuck off, I'm also drunk. Nobody even notices until I make my way back, in extreme distress. I'm breathing hard and my heart is like bababababababababa. Everyone is justifiably concerned. Nasser gives me hug after hug until I get a grip. The original plan was to take Chinese into the store, maybe have a few rounds of karaoke, and see what happens from there. This turn of events convinces them to just leave him outside the street elevator. I don't argue; I've about had enough.

I finally go home.

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