St Petersburg – The Morning After (Travel Writing)

I woke up on the banks of the compassionless Neva River with my clothes torn asunder and surrounded by several smashed bottles of Stolichnaya Vodka. I attempted to lift my barely functioning body into a standing position deterred by the vivacious sunlight now pompously making its way into the sky above. Without warning I was ferociously shoved back down onto the jagged tomblike rocks by the butt of an AK-47 Rifle. An incensed Russian Police officer stood before me, clearly unhappy with my sleeping arrangements; I struggled to remember what had happened the night before…

While laying on the cold ruthless concrete floor of the police station my memory began to return but before I could paint a picture of the night before a nauseating image invaded my mind. An absurdly overweight Russian guardsman, not knowing he was being watched, began to climax onto the screen of his security monitor setup; he then rudely collapsed onto the ground smashing his head into the bars of my reticent cell. I seized this opportune opportunity to take his keys and make my emphatic escape through a back door hoping no one noticed.

I made it halfway to Moskovsky railway station before I realised that my clothing was deficient, I had drunk so much Vodka the night before that I was still shitfaced, unable to fully comprehend the world around me, or walk for that matter. I collapsed backwards though a large rotten fence where two Australian sex tourists, Henry and Lois found me lacerated with large splinters protruding from my buttocks, they took me to a nearby hospital to recover. That night my sleep was plagued with flashbacks of my time in Korea, in the agency, I’ve had too many close calls in hospitals and it was the last place I wanted to be. The next day I took the clothes that Henry and Lois had given me and exited the premises via the roof where I commandeered a state helicopter and headed to Finland.

TBC

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