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I was working in some kind of English pub, I think it was located in a music festival, Glastonbury perhaps. Anyway, some kind of situation begins playfully, me and my boss (a blonde middle-aged woman) start threatening each other with pints of beer and their use as liquid projectiles.

After a couple of harmless beer exchanges, things get out of hand and the threats escalade to targets involving our leather jackets, which surprisingly were unscathed during the fun and games. I shoot first (funnily enough, some people call me Jan/Han), and soon I threaten of more and more beer towards my boss. She gets angry, I get angrier and start talking about telling her superior what does she do in the workplace and well, I go into one of my commie-style workplace tirades.

I leave as a proud bastard before she gets a chance to sack me, finding myself in Rambla Catalunya, Barcelona, where I receive a text message from my friend Z, "Way cool" it reads.

I dream too much about fighting in bars. I think too much about my commie worker speeches.

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