Other People Read Online Free Page A

the two scraps of wrinkled, faintly luminous paper. 'Know what we can get for this?'
    'Money,' Mary ventured, but Sharon wasn't listening now. With huge strides she crossed the street. Mary was nearly running again.
    'What do you reckon?' panted Sharon. 'Clan Dew? Couple of Specials each? Some nice Port Character?' She slowed down. 'Or what about a bottle of Emva,' she said shrewdly. She halted and looked at Mary with narrowed eyes. 'Or shall we get some spirits...'
    'Yes,' said Mary, 'let's get some of them.'
    'Yes, I think that'd be best,' said Sharon, on the move again. 'You know, this time of the morning, spirits are more ... refreshing. Don't you think. It's awful really though, isn't it. But we all do it, don't we? Now you wait here, killer. Be back in a sec.'
    Sharon made her entrance to the sound of a bell. Mary peered through the glass sheen and discovered she could read. Now this is more like it, she thought. Signs told her in elementary style about money and goods. Whoever drew up the signs kept getting the numbers wrong and was repeatedly obliged to cross them out and put new numbers in their stead. Using a trick of her eyes Mary looked beyond the window through to the gloom within. There were the bottles that the signs had pictured and praised, flamboyantly ranked against the wall. Sharon was inside this complicated grotto, busy doing her deal. The exchange occurred, with the man giving Sharon something extra before she turned and came back through the reflections towards the door.
    'Hair of the dog,' said Sharon in the sidestreet near by. The bottle top gave a crack as she twisted it off. 'Your health, my girl.' Her bulky face, with its puffed layer of time, looked both glazed and intent. She poked the small bottle into the hole in her head—her mouth, that wet and curious private part, a thing that seemed to have no business there, too vital and creaturely against the numb contours of her face. With an unobtrusive movement Mary lifted a hand up and checked. Yes, she had one too. And from the inside she could trace the scalloped bone curved on to the hard inner lips. Was there anywhere else like that in your body, a place you could feel from the inside and outside at the same time? She couldn't feel one; and so she felt mouths must be very important.
    'Now that's a bit more bloody like it,' said Sharon. It was Mary's turn. 'Go on then,' said Sharon, 'down the hatch.' Mary opened her mouth and poured.
    'I've never seen anything like it,' said Sharon a few minutes later. 'What the hell's the matter with you? You must be in a shocking state, my girl. Nice little drop of brandy and you cough yourself inside out. I mean, it's not natural, is it?'
    'I'm sorry,' said Mary.
    Sharon drank. 'It's all very well being sorry. You spilt half of it!' Sharon drank. 'I mean, brandy's supposed to do you good.' Sharon drank.
    'I'm sorry,' said Mary.
    Sharon dropped the dead bottle to the ground. She stared at Mary sharply. 'I'm not an alcoholic, you know.'
    Mary stared back. Oh yes you are, she thought. Oh I bet you are.
    • • •
    Sharon is an alcoholic, of course (among many other accomplishments) ... Alcoholics: you know what they're like, don't you. Certainly you do. Chances are, you know one or two personally, or you know someone who does. Think about it. How many do you know? There are an awful lot of drunks about these days. It wouldn't really surprise me if you turned out to be one yourself. Are you?
    Drunks are people who can't stay sober. They would rather be drunk. They can't bear being themselves. They have a point. It is harder being yourself than it is being drunk.
    Drunks aren't themselves: they're drunks. They aren't like other people, though they used to be before they started being drunks. People are various: drunks aren't.
    When drunk, drunks all think, feel and behave in exactly the same way. When sober, drunks just think about drink, all the time. They do. That's what they're thinking about. If you ever