He got out of the bar. He felt sick. He wandered through the streets for a moment, unaware of how cold the night was. Alcohol kept him strangely warm. It was the first time he had gone to a bar on his own. In fact, it was the first time he had actually gone to a bar to drink. And frack him: alcohol was good ! At first, it had made him feel very sleepy and he had almost left the bar. But then, it had made him feel happy. Very happy. It was as if everything was wonderful ! He would walk to go home and that was great ! He would watch TV a little before going to bed and that would be fun ! That could have seemed stupid to anyone but that made him appreciate every single detail of his life, however pathetic they might seem.
Once he was outside, it was the same. The cold air on his face was mere bliss. The lights of the streets were like stars fallen from the sky… Everything was perfect. Just perfect.
He went to another bar. He drank again. And again. And again. And he finally met a woman. Everything went well. Drinking had unlocked his mouth. And that was great. Everything could have kept on going well, had he not puke where he shouldn't have.
Kicked out, he was alone again. On Christmas Eve.