The underworld appeal

So, I know I have mentioned stealing before here on the blog. Yes, yes I completely admit to stealing things. "Things" almost always being flowers. I steal flowers. Sometimes it turns into a failed attempt of stealing flowers and I then end up stealing only leaves, grass och perhaps a branch of a tree. At the time, in the elevated state of too much rum, stealing flowers seems a challenging thing, exiting, living life on the edge. Clearly this is just all in my head, and I get no respect from anyone in my presence. You could argue that instead of respect I get the opposite. When suggesting a raid through peoples gardens people tend to look at me with narrowed eyes, slowly backing away from me, saying things along the lines of "ok, I.. ehm... got to go!?"

Last Friday the usual suspects at Fatshark ventured the far distance of 20m to Slakthuset. Actually, I just realized it has become the new "Legion". I find myself there, in the queue to the cash point inside the club, not even knowing how I got there in the first place, yet smiling and jumping, slightly cross-eyed. Just like any normal person would on a Friday night, I tell myself.

THIS Friday, something in my attitude changed. Instead of the usual smiles mixed with guttural noises, happy noises despite being unintelligible, I turned. I went evil! Sure it was a happy-evil but I actually went aggressive at a few points during the evening. The night ended in a mess of people gathered on the rug, smoking a broken-duck-taped-shisha tasting of fallout and glue, the usual way. But this time with an added layer of verbal abuse and foul-mouthing. BY ME! And on top of that, in the morning when we decide to make a glorious breakfast and ignore what happened the previous night, I pick up this thing lying on the floor. Its a shirt, knit-wear, dark blue. I ask who's it is, when it dawns on us that it belongs to no-one we know and we actually managed to steal it. I must add we didn't MEAN t steal it. I think. At least I have no memory of wanting to steal it. If anyone present at Slakthuset last Friday is missing clothing, you may contact me so I can return it and try move away from this dark path down the criminal drain. Next thing you know I might be forcing death pills and gun-barrels on people instead of bags.