Gary cracked open another can.

The hiss echoed around the room, loud and judgmental, like the sound effect for a bad decision being locked in. He drank deeply, wincing as the fizz scraped past his sore jaw, sending a quick reminder that consequences were still very much a thing.

He stood up too fast and the world swerved. Gary grabbed the back of the sofa, steadying himself while his vision did that narrowing-then-expanding thing people usually describe later to medical professionals.

He laughed. It came out wrong.

“See?” he told the empty room. “Absolutely fine.”

The pain was still there, but now it had become conceptual. Less pain, more idea of pain. Like death. Or marriage. Something theoretical that happened to other people.

He wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared inside for a long time, then closed it without taking anything out, having forgotten why he’d gone there in the first place.

Somewhere between the fridge and the sofa, Gary misplaced time.

He sat down heavily and stared at the television, which was not on. The clock ticked. His jaw thumped. His eyelids drooped like they were on a union-mandated break.

The pub occurred to him. The dentist girl. Destiny. Dentists. Possibly destiny dentists.

Gary’s head lolled forward.

He woke with a violent jolt and a bolt of pain so sharp it felt like someone had rebooted his nervous system. His mouth tasted like coins and shame.

Whatever he’d done, it definitely hadn’t worked.

What does Gary do?

Let himself slip back into unconsciousness → Page 4

Force himself up and head for the pub → Page 13