The way I stood in there, packing my suitcase.
Only, my mind wasn’t on the suitcase.
It wasn’t on the weekend.
Nor was it on the shirts I was putting in the suitcase, either.
My mind was hanging outside the window.
It was suspended just about 18 inches below.
And out there in that great, big concrete jungle,
I wonder how many others there are like me —
Poor, bedeviled guys on fire with thirst.
Such comical figures to the rest of the world…
as they stagger blindly towards another binge…
another bender, another spree.
–《失去的週末 The Lost Weekend》（1945）