116. Italian Dinner

We went to a fancy Italian pub for dinner. Everyone was pissed on wine by the time we got there, but we ordered our pastas anyway and tried to ignore the locals who were singing songs and splashing their beverages about.

This tall bloke sat down at our table without being invited. He smelled of red and called himself “Salmon.” He was very excited to see us and asked what we were doing in his country. Thinking he might be working for the aliens, Burbank lied and said it was my birthday tonight. Salmon thought this was the best news he’s ever heard and called a waiter over. I say called. What he actually did was lift his orangutan arm in a wobbly gesture and shout something indecipherable to even the people who spoke his language. A minute later, the waiters were putting fresh cut roses on our table and strapped a colourful hat to my head.