Sod it.

I called, but you weren't there. The tone just hovered in the air for a moment then plunged right down to wherever these things go. Still, I stared at the thing dumbly for a dead-minute before putting it back down: expecting you to change your mind, perhaps ' decide after all this mess that you aren't really dead. Then I made coffee, smoked a cigarette. It was three o'clock, too early yet to start drinking, but of course I know that one of these days I'm just going to sod it, I mean there's no one here for me to sustain my dignity for. Funny, but I can't stop thinking that you're still in your flat, watching your soaps with the Times crossword sprawled like a cat on your lap, Irish coffee by your side. But you're not there, I know: I was there this morning while they were gutting the whole place. Did you finish that day's crossword? I've got a puzzle of my own to solve ' and sod it; it's never too early to start drinking.