England opens the front door and tries not to fall over while taking out his raincoat.
He stumbles to the kitchen and fills the kettle with water―he has become adept at it lately. There's a box of aspirin in the top cupboard, and he tiptoes to reach it.
While he waits, he fills a glass and downs the pill. His hair and feet are wet from endless rain, but he lets himself fall onto the sofa anyway.
For all the buzz of the "turn of the millennium", England doesn't feel particularly excited. Spending the last hours of 1999 drinking all of what Britain can offer in alcohol in a poorly lit pub can do that to a person ―and non-persons as well.
Maybe the excitement died when Europe fell into chaos ―twice!― and the dirt smelled of blood, or perhaps when his children were too grown up for even him and went to leave the nest. He can't even bring himself to admit how he misses the smell of Chinese food after work even if he hasn't eaten any in the past years.
England keeps reminiscing, bites back a sob and hugs his knees.
The duvet next to the sofa has fallen to the floor.
Meanwhile, the kettle whines in the kitchen.