Our frequent guest for Christmas has woken up partially dead. It happens to him on a regular basis, the alcohol, need for external stimuli, and general lethargy turns his sunny disposition into a grey snot-filled one. He moans about people giving him bugs and fails to see that nobody else is suffering. As a parting gift, I shall be delivering him to a bus-stop where he can climb the steps towards his own home in which he can cough and mucus to his heart’s delight.
And so the mid-winter festivities draw to a close.
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