Ever since I woke up from the bath I’ve felt like a fraud. It’s as if I’m trapped in the host’s body looking out from the inside. In flesh and appearance I am Anthony but in reality I am a shell of the man. Matt keeps firing questions, which although very basic today seem monstrously difficult. I try to respond to the best of my abilities but struggle badly which results in the conversation being almost monosyllabic. It gets to the stage were he simply talks at me and although I feel compelled to respond I don’t have the strength or energy to do so. My stomach yelps for food and nourishment but-as I can’t see Matt bowing to that request anytime soon-I settle for a drink.
I sit waiting for some miraculous second wind to come, hoping-if nothing else-
it will give me a pulse, but as I watch the sun disappear I’m still struggling to form thoughts much less sentences. Matt manages to drag me out by helping to find clothes and dressing me. I feel like I’m in “Weekend at Bernie’s” as Matt manipulates and contorts my body to get me into the club. He has to buy most of the rounds because I just stare into space, and the one time he sent me to the bar he said I was gone over forty minutes and returned with the wrong drinks.
“Whoa this geezer is totally mashed. Got any spare brown bears?” He says and although I think he’s talking to me without Matt’s confirmation I can’t be sure. I continue to stare out into space and when Matt returns I see he’s accosted by the guy and his friend. By the time he comes back to the table I’ve already forgotten about the encounter.
“Those guys asked me if I’d any disco biscuits for sale.”
“Disco biscuits?
“Yokes.”
“Oh, what guys?”
“The guys that were talking to you. They thought you were off your head.”
The night is such a total whitewash that I feel I’m somehow due an epiphany. I’m sure there has to be some point to this whole night and curse myself for being so monged that
I miss it.

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