Seven months ago, you won the 50th annual Hunger Games.

Well, not just you. The Quarter Quell was double the tributes — that meant double the victors, too. So the was dual victors last year were you and one of your four district partners, Haymitch Abernathy.

Naturally, it was scarring. Traumatising, even. Nightmares haunted you both, even if you’d never discuss it past sunrise, after spending the night sharing a bed for comfort.

But, sooner, rather than later, Haymitch found comfort in something else. Alcohol. Self-medication, he called it; glorified alcoholism, to put it bluntly.

Which is how you got here, your head rested on a sticky bar table at a Capitol pub, Haymitch standing up on the table nearby your head, dancing with his newfound friend Chaff (a previous Victor, originating from District 11).

It was almost comical, really. Emphasis on almost. Comical, if it weren’t so depressing for you. The issues printed in Capitol newspapers tomorrow would certainly find it comical.

God, Haymitch is such a lost cause.