Salazar brings a serving tray to our room with twelve bottles of Budweiser atop it. A tip, a handshake, and he was gone. He did request, though, that we not let anyone see the beer.
My comrade had paid for the hotel and the beer; but I had to leave shortly to catch my plane.
We get into the beers then start talking about life and the state of the World’s affairs; talking about how we each just left an active war zone in which we were doing otherwise ‘normal’ jobs.
I don’t remember much after that.
“Nothing is true; everything is permitted.” – Assassin’s Creed maxim and primary guideline.
I recall the conversation being honest and eye opening; but I shall not reveal the nature of that discussion here.
The world is an interesting place. As long as you’re polite; most of the time you’ll be alright. Somehow I made it to the airport; though I don’t remember much of the trip.
Following along sequentially; the things I recall are still-images. Images flash of the stained-wood walls of the lobby; a snapshot of my Comrade carrying one of my bags to the taxi; a parting hug; and then of regaining coherence at the check-in line at the airport.
Familiar Canadian Comrades were also waiting to check in. Beverages were had once we traversed through this exceptionally large line. To Frankfurt and then to Montreal before we’d part ways.
Most of the rest of my journey is a blur until shortly before landing in Germany at six o’clock in the morning. The time of day is largely irrelevant while travelling over 30 hours in one shot; it just affects what’s found on the menus of the places you stop to eat. The blur, after analyzing my previous behavior and looking for patterns; was probably filled with tasting the beers of the world until I passed out and pissed myself on the plane.
At least I thought I’d pissed myself. I’d not pissed myself before; so there was no reason to believe my bladder would cave for no reason.
Perhaps it was the cabin pressure?
I found a can of beer on the floor that had spilled all over my pants; alongside it a couple of empty Coors cans… and a full one. Sweet, I’ve got another beer. I crack the beer and drink the Gravol; the plane should be landing soon.
When in Deutschland; eat what the Germans eat.
Sausage, beer, and a few tabs of Gravol.
Nukes of Knowledge 