Insomniac by Tim Frank

I’M crawling up the walls. I’m howling at the moon. I’m drilling holes in the floorboards. I’m eating butter straight from the butter dish with my fingers. I’m smoking rollies the wrong way round, sucking on a mouthful of tobacco. I’m discombobulated. I’m texting my fiancé in Nigeria. She’s asleep but I’m texting her anyway. When she wakes there’ll be over 100 messages waiting for her.
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