The thing is I try and keep a mental count of how much I’m drinking.
And it’s only when you lose count that you get in trouble?
You know what I mean.
It’s just mathematics.
Trouble is I was never any good at maths.
My name is Melissa. And I’m an alcoholic.
I’ll drink to that.
A gorgeous blonde and she looked straight at me like she . . .
Wanted to be sick?
And who might you be, little hiccup?
Worm in a bottle.
Mescal, is that you?
Brother, I thought you’d never ask.
I want you bad.
Then, have me.
Okay, but I should chew you first.
And then down me quick!
Oh what a night I’m having.
Sounds like fun.
Fun is my middle name, Mister.
I love you already.
Want to share a taxi then?
One more for the road before we all die?
My name is Melissa. And I’m an alcoholic.
Not now, lovely. No-one wants to hear that kind of self-indulgence round here.
I can smell piss.
It’s not what you think. A girl dropped wine in my zip.
Here, share my drink and sit on the radiator, everything will be fine.
He was so lovely when we first met.
That sounds so bloody, bloody sad.
I bite off your head first?
And then drink fast; a little lime will hide the taste.
Perhaps Melissa would like some?
My name is Melissa. And I’m an alcoholic.
Melissa, what a lovely name for a drink . . .
