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Before leaving home Bill already knew that this first meeting was going to be a disaster. He squeezed a spot on his chubby little neck that spat out a putrid pus resembling wasabi. The green gunk clung to the mirror like Bill clung to his hopeless dreams.
“I am not a failure” he repeated to himself as he wrapped a bandage around the wrist that he’d tried to slash the night before.
Later he went to the pub to meet the others.
He entered the building like a man entering Hades. Tentative, but ultimately doomed.
No one else had turned up.
He approached the bar timidly and asked for a pint of Courage. The barmaid misheard and brought him an excessively over-priced Mojito. Too embarrassed to complain he stood there stiff and awkward and drank the drink that he despised almost as much as himself.