Portrait Of the Artist As A Cyborg was sitting in the armchair opposite me with the attractive brown-eyed girl on his lap. They were both watching me in the way that a lepidopterist watches a moth on the outside of a cold window of a flat on the 12th floor of a high-rise.

When Portrait Of The Artist As A Cyborg and the girl saw that I was awake he said: "Memory is a precise and persuasive liar. Sometimes I can't even believe myself."

Then Portrait Of The Artist As A Cyborg cracked open a can of lager and we began to drink and I can't remember much else till I woke up the next day fully clothed on the sofa.

The brown-eyed girl, whose name was Katerina, said "We should go for a walk by the river now."

I reached for the painkillers.