Why don't you stay with me?

Night was quiet. In vain I kept going on and on in circles. Finally I stopped in empty Barclays bikes stand in front of O Bar. A Scandie guy came to me asking for a lift to Strand. My first mistake was that I didn't realise how pissed that fellow got. My second mistake was not to understand quickly and clearly that "London's best kept secret hotel" Strand Continental is not exactly in the same league as Savoy or even Strand Palace... Naively on I went while my customer was producing soft suckling-like sounds, a bit like if he was trying to sing or to learn how to speak again. Probably that was the case and I got it pretty straight as soon as I stopped not far from Waterloo Bridge, asking if he knew where we were. Readily he fell off my trike, repeating quietly "one four three... one four three...". Impressed by that profound numerological analysis I got him directly to the door of his hotel (nr 143), where we found an imposing pool of urine. Unlike Moses he didn't wait for a strong dividing wind and just stepped in the middle of that sea of piss. The worst of all though, was that he had no money on him. Nolens volens I followed him to his room but he had no cash there either. He was acting like a little lost child. I don't really think he was pretending. He was basically a living dead at that instant... I took his mobile and made a missed call to my number. Suddenly he stepped forward, rested his head on my shoulder and uttered: "Why don't you stay here with me? We could sleep together..." My enthusiasm wasn't there. Next day I kept calling him. He never answered. Finally he texted me complaining about a huge hangover... Once I told him what happened he quickly lost any interest... Ungrateful cunt!