Chris stared at the glass of vodka on the bar in front of him.
The pub was busy, full of the office lunchtime crowd looking for sandwiches and shepherd’s pies on a Friday afternoon.
Chris was looking for a remedy.
The place was across the road from the station, and he’d popped in for a quick one, realizing that alcohol was doing a better number on his limbs than ten painkillers. He knocked back the vodka; unable to remember the last time he had been really, truly, shitfaced drunk.
Actually no, he was wrong. He could.