Perhaps for the first time, perhaps for the hundredth time, you hear the bells. There is something in their ringing, their monotone singing. Is that something salvation? Or are they merely tolling your doom?

You stagger towards the sound, intent on finding one or the other. Christmas be damned, you’re ready for an end now, whether its an end to ‘chasing the dragon’, or an end to your misbegotten life. You couldn’t care less. Or maybe you couldn’t care more. The swirling concoction of ups and downs in your brain won’t let you decide.

You’ve stumbled across two streets and through three alleys, all stinking of the life you now lead, to find the church, St. Matthew’s. You snicker at the coincidence and then retch into the gutter, envying your vomitus’ exodus from your existence. The bells go silent.

The sun creeps over the cityscape and scours the avenues and byways with probing fingers of light. Desperate to be found you lurch into a beam and fall to the concrete. Who will find you now?