Fools on parade - part one.

Fuck, you've both just realised that trains are not running on you line. It's been raining all day and you have no motivation to go out. You'll be really disappointed if tonight is shit. Don't get yourself wrong, you were never planning on missing out, but until your drinking your sack of goon, you won't be that excited. That free cab ride you scored the other week has come in handy, two pit stops on the way and you're still making for good time, maybe this won't be so bad, maybe things will turn out. Walking down along the river you hear the distant pounding of bass and see some movement up ahead, the rain still hasn't returned, but yesterday's excitement has. A spot amongst the bushes is where you hide your precious cask, and before you know it a line of familiar faces appears. What seems like only moments later, you're screaming the words to your favourite songs, dancing all crazy like and sucking the last drops of the goon. You scramble up a wall of rocks for a better view before you fall off some bench, cut your chin and land in a pool of mud. That photographer has been following you around all night, but you're too drunk to care how you look. Your state (yet again) defines trash. You're apologising to the speakers, dancing with some girl like you know her, fighting over drum sticks, leading that boy on and being hypocritical. Under the bridge and you couldn't get enough, you gave your life away.