..now the way I figured it I had six realistic options. I could sack out straight away, with some scotch and a few Serafim. I could go back to the Happy Isles and see what little Moby was up to. I could call Doris Arthur. I could catch a live sex show around the corner. I could go out and get drunk. I could stay in and get drunk....
In the end I stayed in and got drunk. The trouble was, I did all the other things first.
Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark-spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror. It's passing, yet I'm the one who is doing all the moving. I'm not the station, I'm not the stop; I'm the train. I'm the train..