I have blogged before about the Drunken Street Preacher but he’s been quiet as of late. Until this morning… maybe.
During a lull in my sleep at about 5.30am, out of nowhere I was awoken sharply by someone yelling “I’ll fucking kill you!”
Must have been pretty loud for me to hear it that clearly, I initially thought it was inside my apartment – but not my room, so a bikeseat post, of all things, was the first thing in my hand from underneath my bed. Enough to knock a man out, not enough to bludgeon with though. A quick ninja sweep of my apartment and a check of the stairwell and doors revealed nothing. I looked out over the street and saw nobody, I figured I was imagining things and went back to sleep.
This morning I asked my flatmate if he heard it, which he did.
Who needs Shortland Street when you’ve got Jackson Street?
So while I can’t confirm that it was definately our beloved Drunken Street Preacher, it certainly fits his modus operandi.