‘Where has my life gone? My drunken-ness of being? Where is the joy, the enthusiasm, the passion?’ cried the man, making the sailor jump almost out of his skin. He turned to find behind him a man, standing in a manner that could only be described as four-square. His hair was standing in clumps and tufts on his head, as though his hands had recently tugged at it in desperation. ‘I’m sorry?’ asked the sailor. The man stood four-square with his mouth open in a grimace like a letter box and did not answer. The sailor was growing tired of this hell or nightmare or whatever it was that he found himself in. He could have been anything he wanted, he reminded himself. ‘Where did you come from?’ he asked the man. ‘You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.’ The four-square man continued to grimace, the only movement about him the occasional blink of his eyes. ‘Why are you standing like that?’ the sailor asked. He wanted to be impatient with the man, but he couldn’t get the feeling to line itself up. ‘It is the hour to be drunken,’ declaimed the man. Only, his mouth did not move.