It's warm here. Portugal is, in the summer, though there's a nice breeze off the ocean. And his head's heavy from the liquor, the room's calm. If he looks at the boy long enough, it's almost like seeing Random there,

(head in a woman's lap, sleeping peacefully)

and Mary Anne's presence fades away a little.

He runs his hand over his face. Drink, smoke, smoke, drink. Life goes on, even if it sucks.