We were going out for a meal and a couple of drinks. I had money. I wanted Jenny on my arm because that’s what I wanted. We walked on into town and the buses belched out their toxic fumes at the end of George’s Street and still my mood was light. And the push of people at the bus stop outside the Oxfam shop didn’t put me off either. There was no particular reason to choose Devan’s; close to the Crown, nothing more than I was used to it, and its puke-filled gutters at the end of the night were simply something that you had to content yourself with. You were in this until the end, and there was a certain charm in that before you went for a kebab.

We had a couple there and then we moved on and found a bar on Capel Street, where we discovered a group of Poles slamming small glasses of vodka on the bar and then lashing them down their necks. We knocked back two very strong vodkas and the warmth of the vodka slipping down my throat did something to me and I became repetitive. I wanted to know why Jenny wouldn’t come swimming with me, earlier. I felt as if she wasn’t as keen to do things with me as before. I accused her of pulling away from me. And she said that I was being ridiculous and wasn’t she there with me now. I felt like I was watching a drunk starting an argument outside the pub, just for the sake of it. And I had a growing sense of detachment.

I used my breath to try and calm myself down. I was out of control and being unreasonable but I had a habit of turning the minutiae into something of gravity. This surge in energy was coming from the alcohol in my blood and while I was aware of that fact I didn’t seem to be able to fully grasp that the energy was becoming negative. I wasn’t showing my best side. I brought my drink to my lips. The vodka burnt my throat something fine. I was brazen, and in love, and I had a funny way of showing it.