One night Steve called me and was like let’s drink. Since I can’t say no we decided to go to this place off of the Ramblas where Steve knew the bartender. We started out with some of his roommates from his flat. I met a dude from Indiana who knows Baundi and played soccer with him at Hanover (random, small world) who also hung out. Anyways, we met a couple who was on holiday from Ireland and that’s when things got ugly. All I remember is someone asking for shots and then I took it and it was lights the fuck out! I heard something like oh yeah it was absinth…and then next thing I know is I’m flying over the rooftops of BCN. Yeah, I did say flying! I guess some of us decided to go up on the roof terrace of Steve’s flat and then somehow we ended up roof jumping over 6 story buildings. This is when I should have died. What the Hell was I thinking…well duh I wasn’t. I must have thought I was some crazy athletic cartoon character who could leap over gaps in roofs and bounce if I fell! The cops were called on us and we had to RUN and then FLY over the roofs to get to safety. I don’t remember much but that it seemed like a dream and I would have chalked it up as one except I had bruises and cuts all over to prove that I was a dumbass! The next day we met up with the couple again and they informed us that their last day in BCN was spent in bed because they were so sick from the previous night of drinking! Go us! Steve feel free to add anything I left out!
1 comment:
What you conveniently left out (or forgot due to the absinthe induced coma) of this brilliant happenstance was that it was a relatively safe endeavor until you absolutely scared me sober by casually strutting out on a prehistoric roof that looked like it had all the structural integrity of a small pile of lint. Which, had it collapsed, would have plunged your little ass 50 meters to the floor of someone's laundry room. When I snatched you off that "roof" it brought me a whole new meaning to the euphemism "sweeping a woman off her feet." Rad.
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