// TheManWhoFellAsleep

I have my theories. I have my theories about life and people and all the other ephemera. They call me a fool. Well, talk is cheap. Show me the Benjamins.

Let me tell you about my friend Frank. Frank works for the local council, clearing up the borough. He is an enthusiastic and diligent employee: no piece of litter is too small to be spiked and collected by Frank. He has won numerous 'Employee of the month' awards because of his dedication to his work. And he loves his work. He feels he is making an active, worthwhile contribution to the community. Everyone knows him and appreciates what he does for the area.

Except... except when he is drunk. Not even drunk, merely when he has a drink. Whether a small glass of Merlot, a shot of Bell's whisky, even a half of shandy, he becomes a different person. His eyes glaze over. His voice lowers an octave and he acquires a different accent.

When he is in this state, he undoes all his good work. He rips apart rubbish bags and strews the contents across the streets. He takes empty cans of Coke and impales them upon railings. He tips ripped-up chairs over the fence into the scrubby foliage by Alexandra Palace station. He goes to the bottle bank and liberates the glass, smashing it across the pavement into the road.

When he awakens the next day, he has no recollection of his destructive actions.

Some people say that he bottles up his feelings, and that's why he screws things up when he is pissed. That is wrong. Frank is an agent of balance: he is subconsciously working to achieve cosmic alignment. He is an example of the forces that keep society in check. Sober, he is a force of order. Drunk, he is a force of chaos. To some degree we are all agents of balance: the doctor who treats his patients but beats up his wife, the accountant who fritters away her money in the pub, the comedian who wallows in sadness. We do and undo. Three steps forward, three steps back. It's like a nice dance. Only with more broken glass than the average dance floor.

// TheManWhoFellAsleep

I have my theories. I have my theories about life and people and all the other ephemera. They call me a fool. Well, talk is cheap. Show me the Benjamins.

Let me tell you about my friend Frank. Frank works for the local council, clearing up the borough. He is an enthusiastic and diligent employee: no piece of litter is too small to be spiked and collected by Frank. He has won numerous 'Employee of the month' awards because of his dedication to his work. And he loves his work. He feels he is making an active, worthwhile contribution to the community. Everyone knows him and appreciates what he does for the area.

Except... except when he is drunk. Not even drunk, merely when he has a drink. Whether a small glass of Merlot, a shot of Bell's whisky, even a half of shandy, he becomes a different person. His eyes glaze over. His voice lowers an octave and he acquires a different accent.

When he is in this state, he undoes all his good work. He rips apart rubbish bags and strews the contents across the streets. He takes empty cans of Coke and impales them upon railings. He tips ripped-up chairs over the fence into the scrubby foliage by Alexandra Palace station. He goes to the bottle bank and liberates the glass, smashing it across the pavement into the road.

When he awakens the next day, he has no recollection of his destructive actions.

Some people say that he bottles up his feelings, and that's why he screws things up when he is pissed. That is wrong. Frank is an agent of balance: he is subconsciously working to achieve cosmic alignment. He is an example of the forces that keep society in check. Sober, he is a force of order. Drunk, he is a force of chaos. To some degree we are all agents of balance: the doctor who treats his patients but beats up his wife, the accountant who fritters away her money in the pub, the comedian who wallows in sadness. We do and undo. Three steps forward, three steps back. It's like a nice dance. Only with more broken glass than the average dance floor.