The Polish Experience By Nicholas Westerby This ... - GetSab.Com

“Kins! Kins! Kinsy!” I shouted.
He turned around and his unshaven sullen face did not make for a joyous
reunion. Something bad must have happened. I could see through the thin red
plastic bag that he had bought crisps, chocolate and Spirytus, a 95% vodka. I
considered my words and as I did he focused his bleary eyes and spoke first.
“James, how you doing?”
“Golden, you?” I could see how he was doing but we all play such games.
“Been better but could be worse, you know.”
I didn’t know though. I did want to find out.
“Do you fancy a coffee?” I offered.
“Sure. Come on back to mine.” He said.
I hoped it wasn’t going to be Polish coffee in the style of an Irish coffee. We
had tried the Spirytus devil juice before and it did not end well. We actually felt
quite fine until a friend turned up and pointed out that we were worse than
legless.
We made our way across the embankment and to another array of carbon copy
shit stack block of flats and into what I call the post box bit. All the post went
into little metal boxes and you got to see how many fuckers you shared the
mammoth building with. I guess it was easier for the postmen but mainly all