Wetherspoons on a Thursday and depression, a review.

“I never thought I’d miss you…half as much as I do”

I walk in. The familiar smell of beer and colitas, rising up through the air.

It quiet. There’s no soccer ball to distract the squalling surge of the surplus population.

The familiar doom ensues. The paranoid figment of a man’s imagination is a willing journeyman.  I am not.

I order a pint of Beamish, very nice, very nice indeed. So nice I order another and another and then a fourth.

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The room sways, the serious moonlight is not here yet, but one can hope. This is ground control to Major Tom: “The toilets are very clean”

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My spaceship says to stay for a while, but the gloom is looming so I walk to the backyard.

It’s a nice backyard. In fact, it’s all you need in a backyard.

It’s a yard.

In the back.

All is good.

Until others come.

He sees the city’s ripped backsides… It was made for you and me.

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So I take a “walk on the Wilde side. And the coloured girls go…”Each man kills the thing he loves.”

So depressed now…

But I smile.

Because I have people who love me.

I order another Beamish and some nachos,

PHYSCO KILLER.
Qu’est-ce que c’est
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better

Even he’s happy.

Can’t wait for dessert.

Overall 9.7

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