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A chubby boy in a fleece steps home from the pharmacy with a purposeful stride. He has his dad’s epilepsy medication in his pocket. He walks past the pub and worries about getting mugged. Someone in a leather jacket and a hood laughs a sliver smile around the neck of his pint with teeth in his eyes. Chris thumbs his pocket. It hasn’t dropped out. The last time his dad had a seizure was in the swimming pool. He thrashed around in the embryonic fluid gulping and coughing and splashing. Every time Chris’ dad is in the bathroom for more than ten minutes he wonders if he’s drowned or cracked his head. He has a scar that shows when his hair is short from a set of stone stairs in Venice. That was their holiday, spent in an Italian hospital negotiating medical procedures with a phrasebook. He had forgotten his pills. Fuck epilepsy thought Chris. Fucking seizures. He once seized at a business dinner, came home with bolognase all over the top of his shirt and a missing tooth. Chris thinks sometimes his dad doesn’t take them. He sees a girl walk past in a shellsuit with her hair scraped back and hoop earings with a carrier bag full of attitude. He wonders if he’ll ever have sex. He tried asking Sophie out at school and she laughed. Laughed. I’m a good friend. Well maybe I’m tired of being a good friend. He just wants someones hand to hold and to take out to the cinema. He is sick of being in the background. Mr wallpaper. Yes well what are you going to do about it Chris I don’t know I just think if I talk people would laugh at me people do laugh at you i know oh my god everybody hates me everybody doesn’t hate you you silly chubby little fucker oh shut up my god i’m talking to myself am i crazy no your fine shut up and listen you’re good at carpentry one day you might have your own business and then you can have a girlfriend or a wife maybe and run your business you’re just not cut out for these years do you think so yes just hang tight and everything will be ok you’re a nice guy and that will pay off stick with it well those arseholes do better than me with girls just cause they are good looking of course they do and you only ask the good looking girls out face it you’ve only asked two girls out ever and you never even talked to them so they couldn’t see what a lovely chap you are oh i should talk to people more well it might help i suppose so ha ha thanks for the chat now stop talking to yourself and get going it’s just down the road on the right there’s mr cavendish at number 36 he always goes out walking to the postbox and says hello his wife died last year it was sad i wonder what he does i suppose he has his garden and listens to the radio i’m glad i’m not an old man yet yes that’s something when will the good times come one day one day one day