[CW: mentions of drinking and smoking. alcohol abuse. breakdowns. discussions of suicide and depression. man noone here can catch a break huh]

While everyone's life was a living hell, Anthony was just enjoying himself. Living the life. In other words, he was spending the little money he could allow himself to spend on alcohol, again. This time, though, he wasn't depressed or close to a panic attack—far from it, really. So that was good, at least. After deeming himself suitably drunk, he retreated onto the streets again because being on the streets alone when it's late and he's drunk as hell has worked out well for him before. He started the walk of shame home, and only tripped over his feet a few times. Truly amazing and something to be proud of. Anthony was, right now, of the opinion that life was actually pretty good and he shouldn't have ever been sad or worried ever and that he's happy. He has evolved from a sad drunk to a happy drunk. He has lots of reasons to be happy, right now!

But, of course, being drunk comes with bad decision-making and impulses, among other things. And Anthony's happiness faded for a moment as he realized that he was missing just one thing—that is, one more self-destructive thing to do for the sake of his happiness. Life is good but it'll be even better if he does whatever dumb, destructive shit he can think of.

Anthony approached whatever unlucky person happened to be closest to him, clearly with the intent to bother them. "Hey!" he said, to make absolutely sure they had noticed him. "hey, mate, you got a cigarette?"