The Gallery

aah, to be 20 and drunk again. for twas that that kept us going back and back and back to the gallery. always drunk before we got there, always approximately equally drunk when we left, on account of the horse's urine that they liked to call "beer". a sacrilege, if you ask me.

but what more can i say? happiness was so simple then, watching niggle roll rollie after rollie and sulk in the r&b/hip-hop "lounge" downstairs, looking down on all those young whipper-snappers making tits of themselves, but enjoying their pants off in the process. and then a rowdy rendition of robbie williams' "angels" to close the night off, all smiles and off-key chorus renditions and arms around shoulders, rubbing our youthfully pink and healthily inebriated faces in the armpits of the invariably sweat-drenched ouce100.

indeed, those were the days. i'm getting all misty-eyed just writing this.

but i still can't get myself to give this place more than one star.