Tubin'

Shelly and I celebrate end of quarter on the tube, of all places. Everyone else had ventured into a tacky club after the pregnant man closed (the agency pub) This club, featuring a line, many bouncers, a cover charge, and purple flower cling stickers on the windows had sucked in the rest of the group, who later confirmed our intuition: the place sucked. I promise, Shelly and I had more fun chasing the tiny little black subway mice, and gettin' all vain with the camera :) Good times, good times.
Old Street. That’s our stop. It's also what grant and Adam repeat in their "I’m a drunk American home-boy voice." The more they've had to drink, the louder they repeat it, punching their chest with the "o-fist" Oh, yeah, the Brits stare, some shake their head, but most are far more wasted than any of us anyway. I wonder if they're born with an extra liver to accommodate pub-life.