Picture the scene. Me and three people (oh alright then, three cute babes) were out walking close to my apartment, when suddenly two Danish people stumble in from stage left.
The guy is basically a viking with a bare-shouldered t-shirt. The girl is a very sad specimen with lips five sizes too large for her face, a plastic orange tan and the beady eyes of a tabloid reader. Both of them are appallingly drunk.
The guy sees me (and hears me). He pauses in his stumbling long enough to say:
“Hey, why you talkin’ English? Where you from?”
Slight frown. “What you doin’ here?”
Shrug. “I live here.”
“Well.” Short pause. “Fuck off!”
And off they stumble, those veritable Oscar Wildes of the street, to that place where idiots go. Like a Catholic church. Or maybe even a golf course.