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No, he was well enough to do that. Now, one day, right, he's staggering across the pub pissed from the night before. He's gone over, crunch, right on his mooey, like a fucking ironing board. His hooter's around here, his railings all over the fucking stacey place. Me and me mum had to go the hospital to see him. We walked in. He's laying in bed. He's got tubes stacey up his arms, fucking up his nose, down the back of his Gregory. He didn't look well. Fucking vodka was keeping him alive. Well, I stacey ain't that interested, so I'm having a little mooch about, you know. I looked above his bed, and there's this sign, right, with some weird writing on it. I couldn't read too well at the time.
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