‘Darragh!!!! Get up, I need help up at your Grandfather’s grave.’

Darragh twitched underneath the covers of his bed, the stench from his own body turning his stomach. It had not been twelve hours since he arrived back in Dublin, returning home from years away in Asia. The money had gone and real life beckoned he had supposed. He made good money teaching English in Hanoi, but spent it so fast he hardly got to touch it.

In one clean sweep he pulled the covers off himself and rose up; his lip pulling on the pillow a little, stuck from his own drool.