There's something indefinably fantastic about drinking scotch at four in the morning while watching Dr. Strangelove, especially when you're compelled to hop outside for a quick smoke and find that the river has covered the city with fog.
So you and your whisky go for a walk through dark and empty streets for hours; you're dressed like a rudeboy thug, in a black wool coat worn over a thick, soft hoodie, wearing woolen gloves with the fingers cut off. And best of all? the entire time, you cross paths with no one. It's as if the apocalypse had happened and no one had bothered to invite you.
There's something completely fantastic about moments like that.
There really is.
Now if only there had been hordes of gibbering zombies.
So you and your whisky go for a walk through dark and empty streets for hours; you're dressed like a rudeboy thug, in a black wool coat worn over a thick, soft hoodie, wearing woolen gloves with the fingers cut off. And best of all? the entire time, you cross paths with no one. It's as if the apocalypse had happened and no one had bothered to invite you.
There's something completely fantastic about moments like that.
There really is.
Now if only there had been hordes of gibbering zombies.