Sense for trouble... sense for trouble... There was something important about that. Maybe he should sober up. But he didn't like the thought. He did not want to face this world. Right now. Ever. One of those.
"Cheap whiskey," he pointed a drunken finger at one of the empty bottles. "You... you think it's good and then... terrible." He screwed up his face and threw in a gesture of disappointment. "It's the... the... it ruins every evening."