Mankind is in trouble. It got out of hand, or out of anything else, because we aren’t allowed to touch things anymore, so me and my friends decided to play Dungeons and Dragons online. For the non-nerds among you: Dungeons and Dragons is a fantastic and completely imaginary game for geeks who have a deficiency of excitement and an abundance of time. Naturally with alcohol. This brings me and my roommate to the town square, on our way to the supermarket underneath it to get the vitally important booze.
We descend the escalators, our shoes rustling the thick, black brushes on the sides, some seven safe steps lower than the two drunks who are following us, although you can’t really not follow people on an escalator. Their heads swing back and forth in their fur collars. Me and my roommate were having a very official and highly secretive strategic meeting concerning the game which was to come, but suddenly we got interrupted. One of the drunks swung and fell forward, almost in slow-motion. Step by step, using a different body part every time, he crumbles towards us, already leaving a leg behind. I try to make it clear to him that it would be preferable if he ceded his descension to uphold the distance of one meter and fifty centimetres, but it’s hard for him to look my way while de metal ridges are turning his face into a barcode. The avalanche of intoxication keeps rolling closer without picking up my signals that his behaviour is rather inconsiderate. Half a second, three clanging sounds and two steps later my roommate throws himself upstream and stops the poor man’s fall, at first with outstretched arms, eventually with his face buried in the armpit, which is undoubtably sweating alcohol.
The tumbler’s friend, a man who looks a lot like a dead birch, stumbles down the stairs with his buddy’s prosthetic leg. My friend helps the bloodied man up against a blue billboard. The hand of the fallen drunk and parts of my roommate’s vest colour a bacteria kind of red. With scorching eyes, spastic neck movements and a disinfected and unproportionally large shopping cart, I gesture him towards the entrance of the supermarket. “Don’t touch anything and wash your hands the second we get home,” I hiss in between my lips, smiling to the barcode-faced tramp.
PS: I'm not a native English speaker, so I'm sorry if there are some translation/spelling mistakes, as I originally wrote this in Dutch. Your feedback will still be very valuable to me, despite of the language barrier. Thank you for your time.