Patrick was sitting in a restaurant, eating a much-too-large meal. He was trying to distract himself from the anxiety-inducing withdrawals he was experiencing. He began talking to his food, a crazed and deranged look in his eyes. It was becoming increasingly clear to the waitstaff and patrons that the man was not entirely sober, and it wasn't due to the wine. He'd taken speed and quaaludes before arriving, and it was making him voracious and strange.

"Shut. UP!" he shouted, leaving the waiter looking alarmed and disapproving.

“Sir, is there everything okay?” the waiter asked.

“How can everything be okay? It’s simply too much to hope for,” Patrick quipped.

“Because there have been some complaints…” the waiter retorted more sharply.

“Fuck, you mean the voices aren’t just in my head?” Patrick replied, a bit alarmed.