Cardiff in Motion: Friday
Day started early, this and that. Lingered in the library for an hour or so reading a Tron graphic novel. Returned the book I borrowed earlier on without even reading. Bored out of my wits, I went inside Westfield to shop around. Grabbed a juice drink and left. Tube burned like hell and my rucksack was full of heavy shit. Had another hour or so waiting for the small guy, smoking, thinking, Mioseon. Fight the good fight, we did.
Megabus, left at two, arrived at seven, delayed due to traffic. Still fought, Mioseon and I, along the way. Skies were dark and wet and drizzly. Walked towards the first hostel we could, got denied upon booking. Small guy fool did not carry any legal identification with him. We had to move out as the weather worsened. Had to find shelter and fast. Walked towards the centre leading us to a hostel called The Bunkhouse. Such a candid display of originality. We checked in for the night. Popped a Glock to our groove for that night. Went to a Wetherspoon's pub called Prince of Wales for dinner. Apparently it was Fish Friday. Ordered fish and chips and peas for myself. Unfortunately, everywhere you go is Fish Friday because there's not much option that is rather as cheap as a quick eat like the good old fish and chips. Small guy had a burger meal. Pints of Guinness glorified our night's overture.
Then went to Missoula's, still wet and cold, for a drink and dance. Looked like a bunch of seemingly suspicious-looking chavs from the hood with our sports gear and adventure swagger physically intact. Left the place before more awkward was to be had. Tried to relocate ourselves to the 80's club next to it but rejected on the premise that I wore inappropriate manly leggings. Bunch of fools. Everyone in there when we peeked through the window were either retarded or old. And so we skedaddled back to the lame hostel bar after innumerable counts of smoke and chose to imbibe whisky and coke just because two pints prior to that had to bloat us up right after dinner. Felt kicked in the gut, we did, with the heavy Guinness and pint of lager. Raced to the room to charge me phone, then BAM! it's gone, disappeared, erased from memory. All the small things in that small phone. It meant something to me. It meant something to Mioseon as well. I failed her as I failed myself. Battered my time tracing back steps. Futile attempt, that was. The item was obviously gone, move on.
Next stop, The Playhouse Gentlemen's Club just across the joint. Conveniently inconvenient now because I only wanted the small guy to have fun. Now I'm spending buttloads of what was supposed to be money better spent on Mioseon. Spent the entire night hornified by one girl named Jamie-Leigh. Two dances, forty quid each, countless drinks coming and going. Tits was to be had. Mioseon had long disappointed me ever since the abortion and somehow it felt very wrong. The fun was over at four in the morning, but still our thoughts were locked on Jamie-Leigh like a moth to a flame. Her sweet, glorious cunt rubbing on my thigh bouncing in my head motorboating my face whispering long sighs of pleasure. Sleep came and it was absolute shit.