Anton wakes up.  He is staying in a palatial beachfront property in Malibu.  All night, the wireless had been playing some of the most subversive songs from the 1920s.  Robert Johnson, in something of a first, had been on the radio.  Anton’s friend Blair had spent the night with him.  She begins to address him… 

 “Anton, remember  your friend Billy?  He has been spending a lot of time with Rip.  He owes Rip a lot of money.  And I think he’s getting too involved in taking cocaine and heroin.  I’m worried” 

Anton sneezes, thick lines of blood mixed with nasal mucus spray onto his cotton handkerchief. Anton attempts to maintain a dignified façade, but this is almost impossible, as there are thick red ropes of gore all over his lower lip. Anton realises that he much clean them off, but he is lying in bed, and the thought of getting up fills him with a nameless dread. He pours himself a large glass of whisky, downs it, and enjoys the burning sensation in his chest.

 “Excuse me, Blair, I must use the bathroom” 

Anton stumbles his way to the bathroom and begins to wash his face. His nose is swollen from manic cocaine use, and he notices that his hands are trembling slightly. He think “what the fuck, I just drank a large whisky” and then looks at himself in the mirror. His face, whilst handsome, is puffy. He selects two handtowels, and uses one to wipe the powder studded blood ropes from his face, fills the sink with cold water and immerses his face into it. This was to reduce the puffiness and to waken him up. Anton emerges and feels better. He towels his face dry and returns to see Blair, who is smoking a cigarette and starting out of the window. Anton addresses her:

“Blair, I’m glad that you’ve come to stay.  Something about you being here makes me want to take lots of drugs.  I’m going to do that now, and repeat what you said about Billy.” 

Anton pours a “quarter o” of cocaine onto his table. His British friends don’t use the more normal term “eight-ball”, which in any case, was too small a unit to satisfy Anton’s appetites. No, he was using two eight-balls a morning, and was safe in the knowledge that Blair wouldn’t think it odd, as he had covered himself with his cover story. He listened as Blair began to speak again:

“I was saying that Billy owes Rip so much money.  The stadium isn’t doing well.  He’s taking drugs on credit off Rip.  And he’s just running around.  He’s just running around, and running around.  Anton, I’m worried about him."

Anton has been shoving cocaine up his nose for the few minutes that Blair was speaking. Feeling semi sated, he takes another drink of whiskey and asks:

“He’s running around?” 

Blair replies:

“Yes, he’s running around.  Just running around.  Billy owes Rip money, the stadium is doing bad, and he’s running around.  I think Billy might have a drug problem.  He’s desperately short of money and he’s running around.  Just running around."

Anton continues his frantic cocaine consumption, at one point simply throwing some into his mouth when his nostril begin to weep blood.  He takes another glug of whisky, this time from the bottle, wipes his nose and asks: 

“Billy has a drug problem?  He owes Rip money?  He’s running around?” 

Blair nods sadly and says, solemnly: 

“Yes, Billy owes Rip money.  He has a drug problem, and he’s running around.  Billy’s running around and running around.  He’s just running around and running around. 

Anton has somehow managed to consume quarter of an ounce of cocaine and almost a full bottle of Scotch whiskey.  He thinks to himself he must find Billy and help him.  He turns to Blair and says: 

“Blair, I’ve got to find Billy and help him.  He’s running around.  Billy is running around.  We can’t have Billy running around.  We know what that means."

Anton looks out of the ceiling to floor windows, out to the beach, that leads to the ocean.  He says, with a firm act of commitment: 

“Billy is running around.  Somewhere out there, he’s running around.  He’s running around.”