For my brothers recent birthday, 8 of us decided to go on an all day drinking session in dirty but vibrant London town, Camden. The day itself was good fun; the shitty weather dampened our clothes but not our spirits and we enjoyed drinks in a number of pubs and bars throughout the day.
As the evening drew near, with all of us suitably inebriated, we decided that we should head back and carry on drinking closer to home. We made our way to the tube station, swaying back and forth across the pavement as we did so. On the floor up ahead of us, I spotted a large slipper. It was tatty and dirty, but to my drunken eyes it was a great find. Up to the slipper I ran, and when I reached it, I hunched myself over it. Then I peered over my shoulder to see the rest of the gang looking on with confused looks on their faces.
“22…24… HUT, HUT”.
I launched the slipper through my legs behind me as if I were an American footballer. My brother sprang forward and caught it superbly well and I sprinted off ahead waiting for the return pass. As I legged it forward, the others got excited and burst forward after me. My brother released the slipper from his hands and it arced through the air gracefully. I knew I had to increase my speed if I was going to catch it, so I upped my tempo slightly. A random bystander was pushed out of the way, my hand thrusting against his forehead to move him out of my path. The slipper landed delicately in my hand.
“TOUCHDOWN!”
We all cheered. Other bystanders looked on with utter disgust on their faces. There was only one thing for it. We formed a scrum, I placed the slipped under my arm, and we advanced forward in our huddle, all the way to the station, making weird groaning like noises. Unfortunately, the slipper was lost on the train journey home, but its memory lives on.
Death On The Stairs 