Dave had pulled the settee as close as he dared to the gas fire; the slumped outline of his head,chest and folded arms were silhouetted against the orange glow of the flames as Ian and I entered the room on our return from the Baggot Arms. The only other light was from the T.V. set  which sat on the table by the window. We greeted Dave and he grunted back, engrossed in a  late night debating programme which seemed to be getting out of hand.

Ian had got girl-friend problems - or at least problems adjusting to the idea that he no longer had one, and this plus alcohol had some bearing on his next action. As I turned to go into the kitchen he strode over to the television, lifted it about a foot off the table and shoved it through the sash window where it teetered on the ledge before falling into the yard and landing on itís side amongst broken gass and splintered wood. I stared at Ian in disbelief, then started laughing. Ian stared down through his fingers at the floor, turned and fled upstairs.
 Dave slowly stood up, unlocked the back door and, crouching on his haunches, put his elbow on his knee and with his head resting on his hand at a forty five degree angle continued to watch the debate on the still functioning set. Iíll put the kettle on, I said.

The milk had turned too far to be useable, and the tea was already contaminated with globules of sausage fat from an earlier attempt to wash up in cold water. I put a spoonful of sugar in Daves cup but decided to go without when I noticed mouse droppings in the bag.

Dave stood up when I gave him his tea and he pointed out that the casing had come apart in one corner. We can lash it up with parcel tape, I said.
Yeah, or masking tape, he said. Give us a hand with it.
We put it back on the table and found some pins to fix the curtains over the broken window.

Later as I lay under layers of heavy coats and curtains I could hear a dog scavenging in the garden; on my other side I could hear Ian masturbating furiously in the room next door.

Wanker, I thought to myself.