The trem ride to Rosi's was equally as entertaining with Paul whispering his rambling commentary on all the passengers who appeared to be as messed up as he was. I was laughing so hard I think I peed my pants. Twice.
Before we entered the club, Paul pulled two flask-sized bottles of vodka out of his bag, handed one to me and stuffed the other down his pants. "Hide this! We will buy cokes and add this to them! Here we are!", he said, slapping the bottle into my hand. I smiled and did as I was told. We got inside and I surveyed the place: dirty and poorly lit with cheap drinks, a young crowd, and system pumping out my favorite Strokes song, it was exactly where I wanted to be. Paul headed to the front and dropped his bag on the floor. I heard a dull CRACK and laughed when I realized he shattered his glass flask, mere seconds after we got inside. Unaware, he started stuffing his sweater and jacket into his back and hoisted it up over his shoulder, smiling, with vodka seeping out of the bag, wetting his pants. Awesome. I headed to the back to find the toilet, grab a coke and let Paul dance it out for a couple minutes before I took him outside. When I got back, Paul had created a little space all to him self and proudly waved me over. Then I noticed he had blood all over his hands and the left side of his body from the glass shards in his bag slicing him with every Michael Jackson hip shake, as cute as it was. Needless to say, I grabbed him and took him outside to clean him up. "NO, my mobile phone!" he shrieked when his 2003 model dinosaur Nokia landed in the leaves. When I explained what had happened, he looked at himself, smiled, held up his bloody hands said, "Oh hey, HIV FOR FREE!!" HAHHAa.