I had to stay late at work for some end of financial year meeting. I don’t really know why I had to attend; it had nothing to do with me. The whole thing was absolutely unbearable; it was as though people just wanted to hear themselves talk. We didn’t end up leaving the boardroom until well after midnight. By that time on a Thursday night public transport is virtually nonexistent. I had to walk through the city to get home. It’s not an unfamiliar trek – I take the same route nearly every Friday and Saturday night, but this was the first time I’d attempted it sober. You would think that, with the heightened awareness, absolute control of reflexes, and full decision making faculties that comes with a sober state, the journey would be made without concern. I stepped one foot onto the High Street sidewalk and fear struck me to the bone. The sullen faces of passersby, the dark side alleys, and the dreary unnatural shadows all seemed out to get me. It was the scariest time of my life. I felt the presence of evil reach out for me and ducked into a nearby tavern. I ordered three shots of tequila and a beer. There was no way I could face the trek without my familiar friend oblivion.