So that’s where I worked, with limited success I have to say. My life was better; yes it was, but not by much. I still had a horrid apartment that constantly smelt of drink. I had to share it with another man. Martin, well I called him Marty, as did most. He was alright I suppose, a drunkard and a smoker, but at least he was sociable though, he left me to my own business. He never pried, seemingly because he was lapsing in and out of sobriety, mostly out of it. So, I had two friends, a grotesque apartment and a job that didn’t suit me. I was your average man, except I had dreams and ambitions. I still strived to become a performer, as I told Emma regularly whilst I juggled empty milk bottles. She would listen to me, but I wasn’t doing my job very well. She and I both knew it. I couldn’t bake for the life of me, my cleaning skills were limited and I was never really known as a ‘people-person’.
^^Story for my homework
