POST-MODERN FUCK.

Last night, Marcus Barnett and I went to a beer festival. It was a delight.

Aside from the ordeal of trying to get to Marcus so we could go to the event, where I ran up and down the same road a few times remembering the fire and dropping my purse on the wet grass. That was probably the low point of the evening.
In the wind and the road we walked through Avenam at NIGHT! Solid us. It wasn't the scene of terror people have made it out to be, it was quite nice really. Except for where half of my hair got soaked. NICE LOOK.
The room was all big and full of burly men. Many of whom were 7foot tall, with long blonde locks, and some of whom hovered around for a conversation. 'We would be talking to him right now...'
Throughout the night we saw many men fall unconscious, walk into walls, hit their heads on door frames AND SMOKE INDOORS. It was nice. Everytime I walked into the ladies, a woman engaged in conversation with me. Friendly people all around in the continental.
So when we were all sat together in a conversation that I can only recall, was based around Marxism and hair dye, Marcus and I decided to call it a day. We decided to run through most if avenam to get home, walked the length of Preston looking for a taxi, got home and 'just hung around really' :). I enjoyed our Beer Festival evening.
If anyone is interested, it's on until the beer runs out.



'what are you drinking there....yeah? That's my ALL TIME favourite drink, don't gulp it, sip it.'
Trust.