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He thought back to last night. It had been a good night out. The club had been noisy and crowded, but it always was. He had met that girl, Sarah? He couldn’t remember. She was pretty, very pretty. He briefly wondered if she was still at his flat, but decided that she had probably left by now. He hoped that she’d left her number, but rather suspected she hadn’t. It didn’t matter. There would be other clubs, other girls.
He remembered the fight that they had seen. Some kids, fifteen or sixteen. Four on one. It didn’t seem too bad. They were probably just pissing around with each other. It’s what he did when he was that age. Still, he thought, I should have done something.
He hoped the boy that they had been kicking was okay. He remembered them spitting insults at the prone figure on the wet ground. He was going to go and help him. Katie. That was it. That was her name. But Katie was dragging on his arm, stroking his head, kissing his neck, and he didn’t want the hassle.
Nessun maggior dolore, che ricordarsi del tempo felice nella miseria.
There is no greater sorrow than to recall a time of happiness in misery.