Swedish Drunk Tank 10 A.M

I got in at 5 in the afternoon, the sun was still high over Malmo but more defused than anywhere else id been. I had, after some difficulty, located a friend who lives there and there was only one thing on the agenda: drinking.
We kept true to the teenage Australian custom of drinking cheap beers in the park, though warm as they sell them on the shelves either to save costs or save the countries livers I couldn't tell which.
All the while fresh high school graduates stood on the backs of trucks and threaded themselves through sun-roofs, with horns honking and sailor hats donned to celebrate their freeing to the adult world.
'I did that too' said the friend with a laugh 'and look at me now'.
We drink our beers and watch the water features that Europe, in rough general terms, seems to be crazy about. When the beer ran dry we naturally wanted more, and the bars were the only things open. So we go and I buy as my friend is strapped, we drink two or three, he has a whiskey.
I am bouncing back from the john when I see him speaking Swedish at the neighbouring table. I, obviously, dont know whats going on, but slowly I see that they dont like it. Ever the aggravator he keeps it up and we get kicked out.
I find out on the way back to my hostel that he had called, though not directly, one of the women at the table fat. Though he really just mentioned her likeness to a portly, or slightly portly, Swedish actress. It pissed him off that it pissed her off.
So we walk, through the malmo streets. Over the river, past winers and diners in the cold evening. The police are on the street.
'Swedish police good people' my friend wobbles.
They just look, with slight rage and no response. Meanwhile I am trying to stay concious of the road rules, in that I am trying not to be killed by a car driving on the right side of the road while I look left.
We get back to the hostel and engage in drunken conversation over cigarettes with a German girl who is smoking hot, but looks a little scared. Rebecca! It can be an imposing sight I suppose.
The usual suspects: where you from, where you going, what brings you here, where you been....staples of the travellers question index.
I wonder for a while if she would have sex with me, then remember shes sixteen, then wonder the former again.
However I am not shitfaced, more of a tipsy happy drunkenness. A level you can never sustain and your a fool if you try.
We talk e.coli, prominent in Germany, and run through the bullshit German words we know.
And thats where the night should've ended.
A tall bald man flows out of the door. He is Belarussian and after some talk he mentions a bottle of vodka, he leaves to fetch it and we speculate if he really has it or not.
Rebecca, who looks like she wanted to leave 20 minutes ago, is still standing outside but the conversation has dried up.
The Belarussian returns and sure enough has the vodka, we retreat to the kitchen and try to convince Rebecca to come with us but she is smart.
So we sit, another Belarussian man has joined and I speak some broken Polish with them. The lanky bald animated man pours doubles for everyone and then, clink down the hatch. After a while another, then another.
A group of Iraqis sit at another table and come to offer us food, its not good but they insist it is and that we eat. Their hearts are in the right place.
They leave and the vodka flows, huge drinks....another bottle is brought and I think on how to slink away and get back to my room.
I bum a cigarette of a Frenchman and faintly remember going downstairs to smoke. Then its gone.
XX.
I wake up, blurry eyes. Its not my room but for the moment I dont really care. I feel like it is, or maybe its another room I had rented. Its a strange dream. Then I fall asleep again.
The next waking up is different...this is somewhere I shouldnt be, this is a jail or a holding pen. I get a little scared but am too tired and hungover to properly care. I knock on the window and clutch my dick as a child would signalling I need to use the toilet. They finally let me, escorting me the whole way though I was in no shape for a daring escape.
'When are you letting me out' I hazily say.
'Couple hours'
I slink back to bed.
I am awoken again, I realise I have pissed my pants, and quite a job of it I have done too. The next day I find out my friend woke up in his underwear but I can see why they wouldnt have done that to me.
They take me to the counter where a hot chick with a south american look tries to explain that they have my friend and I should wait to leave together. She hands me back my rings, watch and wallet. All the money is there, which is amazing.
'We have your friend' she says again.
Thinking they may have got one of the Belarussians I bunch my hair into a ponytail and say long hair, in a crude sign language.
They dont answer and I assume they have the Bald Belarussian who I am not overly fond of seeing at that moment. I panic and walk away.
I am walking for an hour, looking down streets that look the same and trying to pin down a memory of any landmarks that might lead me there. The cold morning wind is freezing in my pissy pants and I am reluctant to go near others for my pungent urine scent.
I dont find it so I get a cab, I am averting my eyes for fear he will mention my smell. I get there and climb the stairs. I have lost my bag and ask at reception, they are forgiving of my blunder. I feel the pains of thumb inflicted bruises on my biceps. They have my bag and nothing is missing. I find out that I was one block from the hostel and walked an hour in the wrong direction.
Then I seal my pants and change and sleep. Its over and im ok, but my brain and body remind me of it for 2 more days. A life changing hangover.