a walk, somewhere in dalston. maybe.

he knew not where he was. if he could work out that much it might give him a clue as to where he was headed. or not. the street lights bounced off the wet pavement ahead of him in a startling dazzle of vibrancy. this, the multicoloured traffic lights and the car lights that seemed to be coming straight for him, only added to his general feeling of discombobulation and confusion.

none of it was helping him get his bearings. he looked up as a large truck swooshed past him. both directions looked identical. or near enough.
“six of one, half dozen of the other” he said to himself and set off up (or so he reckoned) the road. as he walked past an empty pub, all boarded windows and warnings against trespass, he thought he saw a group of people standing by the bus stop.
“friend or foe?” he wondered out loud. he felt nervous, suddenly, realising the implications of the latter being correct. on nearing, the group turned out to not be, a figment - he relaxed, feeling silly for feeling so threatened.

he berated himself for allowing his behavior to become so laissez-faire earlier. at least the dizziness had faded. any minute now he hoped to sober up entirely. not wanting to get his hopes up, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. he began to notice the smell of ozone from the freshly fallen rain.
"be grateful for small mercies" he reminded himself, noticing that at least the ozone overpowered the smell of the traffic. it also seemed to bring out the smell of the bushes.

looking up he saw he had a choice to make. straight ahead or turn left? he thought of flipping a coin but realised he had no money. left it was then. down a long unyielding road with no end in sight. left right left right. as he approached the end of the road he spied a green,
"oh verdant joy!" he exclaimed, he knew where he was!
"what you lose on the swings, you gain on the roundabouts" he said to the night, as he headed straight ahead, toward his friends' house and a form of home.