I am drunk and I do not understand at thing but this angel who is beside me - This angel, who is sitting...waiting, I think. I do not know. I am too busy staring, steadfastly ignoring the blood that fills my shoes. I can taste the vomit in my mouth but I shut it down - I shut it off - because this angel cannot see me in this state; this mad, howling, pathetic way in which I sway and swish; how I bemoan cheap rum that tastes of 409 and treacle. I feel so deep underwater when she looks my way, this angel - this thin goddess who has strange small teeth and bird bones. she looks at me and I want to vomitvomitvomit. She must know, because she smiles like a waif with her eyes red as I tremble and sway. oh god, I am dyingdyingdying. I want to die. I want to sacrifice myself to the porcelain god and vanish into that place where people mingle and hide in perfect synchronisation. I see she is gone and I am high; I do not understand my elation at having missed the chance to touch an angel but then I shudder and vomit onto my shoes - the rum the vodka the coke, it hits me in tides of violent sluggish brown and I soon realise that I could have just soiled an angel in my own stupid intoxication. yet here I am, alone, with blood in my shoes and vomit in my hair. I wonder what my life has become.