1000 Characters, 9: The Man Who Is NOT Harry. It is far too early he thought but then forgot where he was going with that. He tried again: it is far too... what? Far too many miles home? He shook that off. It was true. Home was too far away but that was not what was bothering him. One more try: it is far too... far too.... DRUNK, his mind yelled thru the fog. He recognized his inner voice, and saw how it got to that thought, but that was wrong. Closer but wrong. "Not drunk," he said aloud, standing up from the bench and then sitting back down again. He was waiting for the restaurant to open, he thought, then remembered it WAS open. So what was he waiting for? It's far too, his mind prompted again, as he managed this time to stay standing and started staggering his way across the street, cars swerving to miss him. He felt like his legs were made of tiny islands of pain. He struggled to breath. Far too... he thought again as he pushed his way into the restaurant. Far too... what?