"Guide me home," he said grabbing hold of my coat before falling to a heap almost dragging me with him.
He was drunk. Of course he was drunk. It was Michael and it was after 6pm.
He had a problem: we both knew it, and we both refused to confront it head on.
Instead, I would come and find him - usually in a bar, far away from where we lived: all the local pubs had barred him. It wasn't that he caused trouble directly (he was never violent when he drunk - or on those rare occasions when he was sober for that matter). But he always seemed to cause problems. Other people would get into fights around him. And of course, most publicans didn't want people drinking until the passed out, clogging up their bars.
I managed to unhook his fingers from the collar of my coat, and with some difficulty I managed to pull him into street. There was no point in calling a cab. Most taxi drivers had him on a "do not pick up " list.
...
It's time to think about whether he is the problem! Great write-up.