Leonard and I knew we’d found the party when we spotted a cluster of goths on Bernard Street. He wasn’t sure if it was really worth coming all the way here. I, however, had already consumed a giant fuckload of alcohol and was in it for the long haul. Someone gave me some vodka & Irn-Bru and I made out with a very pretty boy who was wearing black PVC trousers and stacked shoes and had a neon pink stripe across his eyes. He thought he might be gay. I could’ve just bonded with him over being queer. But I didn’t. I just wanted to make out. I don’t think he was all that interested and I think I was a dreadful predator. It was like shades of #86 all over again and plus when I am that drunk I should just generally be kept away from other people. He held out his arm with a sigh and I wrote my number on it but I knew he wasn’t going to call me. Leonard made his escape and I guess so did #156 and then eventually I had my re-run with #73 and then staggered up Leith Walk looking for a taxi home while normal people were walking their dogs and going to church.