Okay, I laughed at this part. An objectively inebriated Geoffrey Firmin, referred to here as the consul, is walking down Nicaragua Street, contemplating life when:
It reminded me of a T-shirt I saw a guy wearing once:But suddenly the Calle Nicaragua rose up to meet him. The Consul lay face downward on the deserted street.
Anyway, Geoff just lays there in the street for a while, continuing to think about Yvonne, Hugh, and life in general until a motorist happens by and asks him if he’s OK. A short conversation ensues that culminates with the motorist offering Geoff a drink from a bottle of Irish whiskey:I don’t have a drinking problem
I drink
Get drunk
Fall down
No problem
I don’t hold out much hope for Geoffrey ever getting sober.“I always keep a bottle of something in the car for an emergency .*.*. No. Not Scotch. Irish. Burke’s Irish. Have a nip? But perhaps you’d—”
“Ah .*.*.” The Consul was taking a long draught. “Thanks a million.”