Conn

He sat on his bed, staring at the chest he had pulled across the room. The lid lay open and he gazed down at the contents with sorrow in his eyes.

He couldn't remember the last time he had stumbled home like this. Soaked hair clinging to his forehead. Jacket caked in mud. Entire body reeking of a mix of whisky and body odour.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd fell into his hall and dragged his inebriated body onto the cold wooden floor. 
Couldn't remember the last time he'd grabbed onto the wall and pulled himself to his feet, legs weak and wobbling. 
'That's me home, Ame-' He stopped, and slowly shuffled around the corner, entering the bedroom.