Last Wednesday we went to a bar with a cheap happy hour called 7 Club. When we got there we saw a few people we know, including Ben, a good-natured yet cantankerous middle-aged Brit with stained teeth. He'd offered to give me a cell-phone he doesn't use the previous week, and as soon as he saw me he brought it up again and promised to give it to me tomorrow, which was sweet.
Our friends left to go to a Reggae Bar before Joe and I had finished our beers so we just took one with us, just left the bar with this massive can of German beer. China's cool with that. The snap on it broke later so we had to jab it open with this card-shaped, fit-in-your-wallet multi-tool that Aaron, Joe's scheming Canadian friend, wants to market on Ebay.
We sat on the steps of this massive stone mansion next to Reggae Bar, drinking Carlsbergs from the bar, smoking spliffs and having meat-sticks hand-delivered us. China is cool like that.
Except for the ridiculous hangover a night of dancing and drinking Carlsberg inexplicably gives you. We discovered the hard way that the Carlsberg here probably has formaldehyde in it and totally destroys you for the entire next day. Not recommended.
We made plans to drink Absinthe at 7 Club next weekend with a heavily bearded, San Diegan Mescaline-Jesus dude, and his Chinese Yoko Ono look-alike girlfriend. Should be interesting...
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