Al staggers through the streets clutching a bottle of whiskey in one hand and using the other to flick the last of his cigarette. He slowly bends at the knees and places the bottle on the ground before rooting through his inside jacket pocket for another smoke. Distracted with his search, he looks up to suddenly realise up is down, down is up and he was about to tumble over - he flails his arms around in a desperate attempt to remain upright. Failure.

"OH FUCK OFF!" 

"Can this day get any FUCKING WORSE?" He rolls on to all fours, spitting at the cigarette he just dropped in the gutter before climbing out of the puddle he'd landed in. Al reaches back into his pocket for another attempt - this time successfully withdrawing and lighting a cigarette.

"WHY FRANK?!" Begging as he leans down and picks the bottle up.

"WHY DID WE HAVE TO LOSE FRANK?!" Doing his best to obey his late father's orders of never crying in public.

Al pulls the cigarette from his mouth, spitting with ferocity before gulping a few swigs from the bottle.

"I FUCKING HATE THIS WORLD AND EVERYTHING IN IT."

Albino throws the bottle at the passing at the passing crowd who were now becoming unable to ignore him.

"What the FUCK are you all looking at?! I FUCKING HATE YOU TOO!"

Off he goes to find another bottle.