We awake in linen shirts, our heads pounding from wine and song.
We break out fast on preaches, plums and pastries. Yoghurt with honey compliments strong coffee. We mope and despair.
We are bohemians.
Heading to the park, we read and continue to criticise one another’s artwork. Before long, however, our inner warriors take over again and we compete in feats of strength.
We all fail.
Crush an apple in two hands! Easy!
We all fail.
We resign ourselves to moping and existentialism.
Suddenly, a roar tears the peace asunder and Simon leaps to his feet, apple flying in all directions. The remnants dangle from his fingers – he has crushed it between his hands… The man is not human.
As an offering to the Gods, I punch a pear into non-existence.
Chaos has descended. There is only one way to reclaim our relaxed bohemian lifestyle – to the absinthe bar!
The furniture is worn, the tables covered in lace. We read the menu by the glow shed by tiny table lamps – the only source of light.
Steadily, the absinthe takes over our minds and the world slows. Hours pass, but time means nothing. More and more absinthe flows. Twisted stories and hideous creatures erupt from the depths of our minds.
Six hours slip by. Night descends, stealthy as a cat.
Home yields wine, microwaved pizza and 80s pornography. If the large party in the hostel complain, we ignore them.
Unless they’ve written an opera, we’re not interested.