It's strange how life goes in circles. Sometimes we run in small circles, the hamster-ball routine of our daily lives. Sometimes the circles are bigger, wider, the enclosed race course of the working week. But even the stars travel in their celestial circles. Against such monumental forces, how are to stand any chance of breaking away?
Stakeout again, and I can't help but think back to the stakeout on The Chichester. All those months ago, that heart-wrenching moment when I discovered that Thompson had been playing me for a fool, and slowly been sabotaging my circle of contacts.
Circles again. My head is spinning. Thompson has been in a large hotel all night, completely unaware of me. I sit under the clouds and wait. I've had no food all day. No damn whiskey either. Addiction tears and pulls at the corners of my mind, desperate for that firey burn, that sweet taste, that dreadful rush of blood, that vile and wonderful wave of self-loathing at another victory against myself. Addiction is like having a firefight with yourself. You win and lose at the same time, but somehow you hate yourself for winning as much as you do for losing. But in the moment of victory, the second of surrender, release and resolve, you forget that you ever hated everything.
Now I'm full of hate. I think about slipping into a late bar and getting a drink. Or at least something to eat. But Thompson is corned like the rat he is, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him escape this time.
