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3 Drunks and a Handshake

After the DIS welcome party, several Friday nights ago, I enjoyed losing and finding myself in the clean streets of Copenhagen for maybe fifteen minutes, until I recognized a row of stone busts of famous Danes by a church not too far from my school. Taking the next right would lead me down Nørregade, a straight shot to the train station. Halfway down said street, a guy in his mid-twenties, who'd been walking his bike along with two friends in tow, stuck out his hand to me.
"Hvad hedder du?"
If a stranger approaches me in a city street at night, I typically ignore her or him and hurry away. But the streets were so cozily-lit and safe-feeling, and he didn't look dangerous...
So I stuck out my hand.
Uncertainly, I replied, "Jeg hedder Angie."
The initiator, whose name was Ness, shook my hand vigorously and held onto it for what felt like the next five minutes, as he introduced himself and his friends. Upon being introduced, the second guy, whose name I didn't catch, started to bend over, reaching a hand toward the base of my knee-length rain jacket. I didn't even have time to react.
But, I didn't need to. The fellow reached down, patted the top of my nearest high-top, and righted himself.
It was then that I realized how very drunk they all were. I'm a bit slow when it comes to such things.

They spoke in English after hearing my broken beginner's Danish.
"I like your accent," Ness told me. "American accents are much better than English accents. So, do you like the Backstreet Boys?"
The conversation continued in this manner for a solid half-hour, during which time I answered questions about my studies, touched on certain aspects of American politics, and reintroduced the trio to the phrase 'full of yourself,' which I allowed myself to use when Ness went on for five minutes about how much better he was at English than either of his companions.
When we finally parted, Ness and the others gave me the sincerest of farewells, wishing me a splendid stay in Denmark.
"Take good care of yourself!" was the last thing I heard from him before he commenced pushing his bike along once more.
Copenhagen is a big city, and I've not been out 'late' on a Friday night since, and I doubt I will ever see even one of the three of these guys again. I don't expect they'll recall much of the encounter, really; they were so far gone. But I'm sure I'll never forget the half-hour we shared in the well-lit streets of Copenhagen.


"I love that expression! Full of yourself! Did you hear that? HAHAHA!!"

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