About 2.30am, Sunday morning, I was wandering through the rainy streets of the city. The feeling of the rain soaking through to my skin made my insides go warm, and the soft drops on my face made me want to melt.
Walking next to the Queen Victoria Building, I saw the first of two men who, for that rainy Sunday night, quite happily released their liquids onto the street via their manly hoses (as if the street wasn’t wet enough with the rain!). The man did up his fly and his friend pushed him forward on their journey to whereever it was they were going (which happened to be in my direction).
Putting my head down so my hair hung in my face, I kept walking. As they approached, my head sunk lower until my chin was touching my chest. I passed them without a word..
but then the drunker of the two called out something. I turned around, and he came over to me and started telling me how he was here from Canberra and how much he was enjoying his night. He admired my collar and touched the (very small) spikes wanting to know if they hurt. He asked me my name, which I told him, and then he told me his… I think it started with S. He took my hand and kissed it. I smiled at his weirdness and the less drunk friend from behind piped up that I had a nice smile. The drunker one then asked me what a princess like me was doing out in the streets at night. He informed me that I should be warmly tucked into bed. I mentioned that there was no reason for that. I turned around and started walking away.. the drunker called out wondering if he could have a farewell hug.. I said that he could do without and kept on walking.
What is the compulsion of drunk people to talk to complete strangers? Me, I generally talk to strangers when I’m sober.. And apart from the odd conversation with people I don’t know at clubs while drunk (generally because I’ve seen the person many times before but never thought to talk to them), I don’t think I can ever recall talking to a stranger when I was drunk.
A week ago, a friend and I were quite happily walking through the streets of the city (this time it wasn’t raining), completely minding our own business when a group of four yobs decided to follow us. They called out some weird, obscene, drunken insults for several blocks until we got into an area which had a few more people on it than just us.
Again, what compels drunken people to harrass others who say nothing to them?
I don’t mind the odd friendly drunk asking me a few questions or telling me some story about what their night has held, but the drunks who taunt, they really freak me.
Me… I’m a happy drunk 🙂