'The Man Who Got Drunk and Bought the Sun' by Lydia Unsworth

He was lying on the floor ina puddle of lager. He had freshly popped bubbles in his hair and the smell of piss was wafting up the leg of his trousers. He had a large weight in his head, somewhat reminiscent of anvils.

There was a large dead weight in the drunk man's head but he felt something like a burden lifted clean off his shoulders. The fog of the last few years was all around but, where there had once been shouting, he could now feel silence.

He lifted himself up and looked around. He was looking for something half-remembered through the glaze of drink, something he was afraid and unsure of, something bright and decisive. But all he could see was cloud.