I dry-swallow another black bomber. Don’t want to eat. Need the speed to curb my appetite, keep me awake. I’m sure I am retaining bad energy, that the food I’m eating is collecting round my body, rotting, trying to poison me. I haven’t been able to keep track properly since St Enoch’s Hotel.

Elaine is in for the night, asleep. No bath tonight, straight to bed. No puff of black hair for me to look at. Pity. So here I am doing what I need to do. Plan. Things are going to change soon and I need to be ready for that. Be precise in deed and thought.

The cars in Dumbarton Road seem very loud as they pass. I think my senses are becoming more acute. Sometimes too acute. The noise is starting to hurt. Headache starting. The taste in my mouth is too strong, can’t get rid of it no matter what I do. I can feel the cotton of its shirt on my back, the tiny fibres, the feel of the leather shoes on my feet.

Not long now.

I can see the shadows of people who aren’t there. Smell them.

Soon I will be able to see in the dark.

Things are working out.