So, here am I. Post-exam feeling of energylessness, if such a word exist 
(and it doesn't). Histology exam, to be precise. Drained of my vital 
force, what shouldI do? For a moment, the idea of going back to my room, 
and more importantly, to my bed, crosses my mind. But the prospect of this 
long awaited pleasure, the drunken city crawling, is strong enough. I 
won't go home immediately.
First I enter the subway, with its gloomy cortege of broken workers,and 
depressed housewives, I sit in one of those dirty, greyish orange plastic 
seatsand start staring into the void, like anyone else. Here is my 
station. Time to get out. The grey rain has started pouring, so I'll wait 
inside until it stops,with the greasy and annoyed crowd, pestering against 
this setback. But I don't really care to get wet. So, despite all the rain 
the skies have to offer, I quickly dash out in the slippery street. I find 
my way in the dull working-class neighbourhood, the true Brussels, 
gentrified slums. Enter the old cafe. The old cafe where I find a table, 
and spend considerable efforts to attract the attention of the bored old 
waitress. I order a coffee. Mind has to be clear before it gets 
fuzzy-buzzy-drunk. The sweet dark hot liquid goes down, sipped 
religiously, every drop enjoyed calmly. Cleanse my palate with the tiny 
wrapped speculoos. Then order a beer. The specialty of the house. Only 
foud here. The true beer of the Marolles. It gets served in the wrong 
glass, though : Chimay instead of 't Arkitek. Nevermind. It's what's 
inside that counts quoth the old landlady. True. Same glass with different 
markings. Time to enjoy. Sip. Glup....Glup....Glup.... The nice strong 
darkish brown beer goes down easily, and immediately provides a smooth 
buzz, after nearly two months of exam-driven abstinence.
The glass is empty now. Slowly go to the counter and pay. Give a smile and 
go back outside. The rain has stopped, and the street looks livelier. 
Livelier than deserted. That's not really that hard.
The coolness of the air will sober me up (not that I was drunk, mind you; 
no, slightly buzzed would be the correct term).
Time to go to anothe cafe. Then I'll go back home and eat myself a durum.