Festival time was almost over and I went on a big night out with people from work, to say goodbye to a colleague and two board members. I booked us a restaurant, everything went pretty well, and I got too drunk to remember to pay for my drinks. The dregs of us visited numerous pubs once the meal was over. I convinced people to come to my friend’s club at Subway where I was excited to hear stuff like Dinosaur Jr and Pavement, but I got dragged out of there and we wound up in Siglo for the Important Drunken Conversations section of the night. (This was when I discovered that my colleagues had been quietly aware of how fucked up things were between me and #117.)
My colleague and I were the last ones standing. We went back to the Subway for a while, then the next thing I remember we were heading down Cockburn Street with a merry band of strangers and we were trying to organise things. The plan was to go to the Penny Black. It’s supposed to open at 5am and it’s where all the dregs go when they need to keep drinking. I’ve still never made it inside, however, because instead I got off with a Colombian round the corner in an alleyway. It was the sort of encounter that made me resolve afterwards to give a bit more thought to the presence of CCTV cameras. He told me his name a couple times but I couldn’t for the life of me remember it. He’d lived in Scotland for a long time and didn’t really engage with me in Spanish, so for all we know the Colombian bit wasn’t even for real, but whatever. I performed the Walk of Shame while everyone else was sober and going to work, and I got to bed at 7:30am.