“Nobody quite knows which drink it is that takes him over the edge of being merely a social or haughty, laughing drinker into a morose hungover wretched creature. Shakes and creaks and sweats and has nightmares and it’s always November and it’s raining and it’s three o’clock in the morning and there’s nowhere to go and you reach out for a cigarette and smoke and think of all the horrible things you’ve done in your life and all the shame all the shames you endured and suffer and the shame you gave other people no all the wrongs you’ve done other people.”