"want anything from the shops?"
"pick me up some lube?"

I wake up with eyes like arsholes, leaking claggy discharge over the pillow case. Where am I/Who am I/who was I last night...
Lube is code, for gin or whiskey or whatever you can get you hands on, it helps you slip in and slide around more easily, y'know? I was always a stuck, awkward immobile little block of a girl before I started drinking. Just solidifying in corners while other people moved around with relative ease. Since I got my british-booze-passport I've flourished, literally hundreds of friends and aquaintances and few enemies, I've heard none of your successes count til you have someone hate you for them.