In a drunken state of deep despair, I think about Dr Kazinski at his practise in the East End. I think about his posters, torn and wrinkled, showing white picket-fence families eating carrots like rabbits, caring for teeth like all families should.

That was a long time ago.

Now in the absence of regular dental visits, teeth become brittle, and fillings fall out and shatter. These become food traps, with little parcels of decaying meat that dental floss cannot reach.

Christ, the thought of it now as he pushes the pin, that starts the drill, that journeys to the centre of the earth.

God help me and my condition, the excessive booze, my absolute fear, and why I will never go back to Dr Kazinski and his rabbits.

receding gum line,
remember, call the clinic,
addiction hotline.