Dominic fumbles down the street aimlessly, swaying back and forth to the tune of his latest failure. The lyrics roll around in his mind, slipping past his guarded lips unknowingly, and he draws a lot of looks for it. Even at the prime time of three in the morning when the traffic has slowed to a trickle.
His shirt smells like vomit - either his or somebody else's, he's not sure, and there are new welts along his arms already bruising. He's quite certain there's bound to be a camera out in the blurry crowd, filming every second of his humiliating display, but Dominic keeps pushing because maybe it doesn't matter anymore.
Dominic wishes he could remember the exact moment when everything turned to s**t, and he stopped caring about himself anymore. Then at least he could maybe try to remind
