Simple decisions were made cloudy by compounded pressure and too much whiskey. I left the cleric’s hall feeling as though I’d just woken up in a coffin, having found myself buried alive in some form of jest. And the fresh air outside did nothing to relieve me. If anything, the drive home served only to enrage me more; the excess of traffic, and the sounds of car horns blasting, and the seemingly endless sea of tail lights flashing low reds then high reds then low again, made me sick and dizzy. Why was my body seemingly sinking into the drivers seat? Was I melting? I used a pay telephone to put in a call to the office hall, to tell them I would be needing a week off. For a death in the family.