Andrew from Liverpool found himself on the dirty streets of Prague in nothing more than a light T-shirt and a vague feeling of not knowing where the hell he was. He was soon to find out that this vague feeling of being lost would soon become a lot more intense.
He'd signed up for the pub-crawl on a whim and wondered what he was getting himself in for, as the organiser handed him a wrist-band and an absinth shot. Apparently people on the crawl would be given free drinks for an hour at the first bar they were to hit, and free access to a night-club at the end of the night. Andrew didn't know if he'd make it through all the alcohol to actually reach the club. He didn't know how right he was.
Before too long, Andrew found himself chatting to a bartender from New York as he glugged on his Czech beer as the rest of the group became better aquainted with bohemian booze. As Andrew and the crawl soon headed out the door of the first pub in search of the next, he discovered firsthand the dangers of mixing ones drinks. Feeling ill, he separated from the group.
Stumbling alone and drunk in the frigid air, Andrew clutched his bare arms and looked for somewhere to sit down. Spying a bench, he collapsed against it and was violently ill between his feet. After shivering for several minutes trying to clear his spinning head, Andrew recovered enough strength to move and rose from the bench. However, upon attempting to move off in search of the tram home, Andrew became overcome with the sensation that everything was unaccountably tilting beneath his unsteady feet. This made doing anything but lying on the bench nigh impossible.
Gurgling on his own sick, Andrew noticed an approaching figure from where he lay on the bench. The figure stopped at Andrew, who was lying prone on the cold bench, and gently began to slide a cold hand beneath Andrew's trousers. The figure moved closer and whispered something Czech in Andrew's ear before sliding a long, thin finger into his tense, Liverpuddlian rectum.