�Er yeah go on, same again.� I wasn�t drumming to request another drink you prick, I wanted to go. The night drew on, and pints later the girls had left and he was chatting some middle aged old cow up. She was blatantly not interested in even talking to him, but Ciggy, pissed as a fart couldn�t see. Ten minutes later he�d been kicked out the pub with a face like a smacked arse, well he�d been slapped what do you expect! I stood swaying in the road outside the put laughing my arse off and pointing at him, he was mumbling and swerving side to side in the road as he began to walk back to the house. Stumbling, mumbling, and stopping occasionally to lean against a lamp post then try to be sick down it. The third lamp post was nobly selected to be painted the pretty sick colour, again I laughed but this time I stumbled over my other foot and ended up on my arse in hedge full of stinging nettles. I kept laughing even though I could feel the little stung lumps starting to rise and burn on my skin, the pain seemed to magnify itself each time I wished I hadn�t been stung by them. I was still laughing, then it hit me, I wasn�t laughing because it was funny, I was laughing because I couldn�t stand up to the reality of being a middle aged waster, who was currently pissed and humiliated laying by the side of the road. The tears of laughter turned to tears of fear, fear turned to anxiety and anxiety turned to hurt. I crawled up the grassy verge and onto the road dripping with tears, I wasn�t crying like a man should, I was crying like a little boy. Ciggy turned and looked at me, wiping his mouth he began to laugh. It took him a while to realise I was crying like a baby, then he stopped laughing and bent down to pick me up. He or I didn�t say anything, there was nothing to say, his life sucked and mine sucked more...