Day 02 Continued

After having calmed down we agreed to go to the tourist area known as "fisherman's wharf". We quickly learned to hail a cab and got a very fine cabbie going very fast and giving us a few tips on where I could shake ass.
We went through the tourist area into a restaurant looking for the fabled huge american food. The pizzas look the same and everything is "nice" to eat, but far from fresh.
Armed with a craving to shake ass while given the chance to do it in San Fransisco and a card with the text "Mission District 16th" I and Fredrik went on a quest for booze and nightclubs.

The next cabbie we rode with told us mission district hosted a mexican gang shooting the day before. So with that argument he told us to go to the block next to mission, if I remember correctly, Valencia.
Valencia 16th was really a very long street decorated with clubs, bars and peripheral essentials to a barcrawl: Liqourstores and Coffeeshops. We headed straight for a sleazy looking neon sign in pink which read "Delirium".

Delirium was great. Dark, sleazy, loud and it came with a huge bartender who asked about sweden, said "rock on" or "bitchtits" all the time and gave us good advice on tipping bartenders and served us shitty rum drinks. Proved nearly impossible to get hold of any good, golden rum.
Delirium had a jukebox and an ATM, a billiards table, two flipper games, a toilet which swedish health control would've used as argument for shutting the place down in a second, rock music, lots of band stickers, lots of random weird stuff like motorcycle helmets as decoration and every wall was literally covered in graffitti.
Delirium also features a second dance room. The second room was even darker, lit by stuff hanging on the concrete walls. We kept drinking in this and other atmospheric environments until a friendly guy in the hairstylist business got us to go by cab to another district and another bar. That club had golden rum byt the dancing sucked. So we headed back to a now crammed Delirium with an awesome dancefloor. Having been awake for 25 hours and having fed the brain with airports, aircraft personell and homeland security made sending it on a vacation by getting super drunk a really good thing.
I got an invitation to the hairstylist's after party and a more tempting invitation to the bar Zeitgeist for a party which would start 14:00 on the next day, Sunday afternoon. According to the friendly bartender who gave it to me "there's going to be cheap beer, lots of women and food there, get there before 14:00, after that you'll have to stay in line".
Getting stoned, drunk and bloated on a sunday afternoon sounded nice, but a bit heretic in terms of swedish drinking rules.

F0r some reason we decided that we wanted more liqour as we came back to the hotel. Or, I wanted. So we took a late-night stroll straight into the dangerous "homeless-people"-area. I bought rum and got a classy brown paperbag to go with it and we even got some time to chat with a vietnam vet who had been getting high the whole war and then busted and then set up by the DEA and busted again. Given that the day began at a swedish hotel hidden deep in a pine forest it felt weird to end it chatting to a vietnam vet in t-shirt in San Fransisco.