I can see what I look like to them. A bizarre collage of expensive wheelie suitcase, bedraggled clothes and clearly no place to go. I can see that I’m going to end up homeless, begging for shrapnel to buy super-strength cider. I can see this so clearly, as I stare out over the lake. A thought in my head repeats over and over, like a train announcement tannoy stuck on a loop. ‘I need a drink, I need a drink, I need a drink.’ I’m drinking, but I still need more to drink. And then, I suddenly know what I have to do. I am at a fork in the road here. I can either pull myself together to go buy some
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