I had a relationship with an alcoholic in the past. I was young and stupid. I met on vacation with a beautiful man, a romance that continued after coming home. After some time it turned out that the hero of my novel actually drinks bitter, and on vacation he had just a period of sobriety. He was just drowned by his family after another drink. I was deeply in love and believed that with the power of my love I would be able to save him, to pull him out of the mud, to make him stop drinking. I realized it was impossible, only a few months later. The man drank, as it turned out, all his conscious life and kept on the float only thanks to his relatives. But at first I was wearing pink glasses and going on dates with him, and then I even lived with him for a while until the same pink glasses slept. Every meeting with him was wonderful in its own way. But I especially remembered one thing. In the winter evening, I came to the arranged place, under the shop next to his house. There was no cavalry. I waited ten minutes and decided to call him. Maybe something happened.

Then I am I, this guy.

I am...Hello! Something happened? I have been waiting for you for 10 minutes. You will not come? have forgotten?

H: No is no. I have come. I am here.

I: How did I come? You are not here.

Q: I am here. And I see you. You are in a white jacket.

Yes, in the white. Where are you?

I fell behind the cars and lay down. But I see you.