Time ago, in a Sunday mourning -quite sunny for a change- I was trying to find my way to a friend’s house. I found myself lost and walking in circles trying to get to a poorly handwritten address. I decided to ask someone. I went straight the first person I found, but in the precise moment I stopped the old man I realized it was a mistake. His silver hair was matted, his long beard had an unhealthy yellowy colour. His nose had a granulated texture and was decorated with burst veins, clear signal of a passionate love for alcohol. His eyes, his movements, his voice, his breath, everything was orchestrated by a deep ethylic intoxication.
I asked him if he knew where was that missing street, and took him a while to process the information and understand me. Shaking his head, dragging sounds to complete almost indecipherable words, he told me he had no idea, he was also lost. “I don´t know where me house is” he pad me on the back (I don't know if was a sympathy signal or was done for balance purposes) and told me pointing a nearby pub:
“let’s find it over there”