fallling asleep in a bathtub

When I wake up a well known friend is standing beside me, I have known him for many years; the fellow is utterly untrustworthy at the best of times. I stare at him with masked suspicion; but it is difficult enough to concentrate on his face, which is one of loathsome brambleberries, to remain aware of any danger that I may be in. He reminds me to keep my hand on my wallet, and I do so.
“‘“Have you tried the hors‘doeuvres,” asks the waiter,’ I might write, at times like these,” he says.
I don’t turn towards any possible waiter waiting in the wings, I keep my eyes fixed on my friend, to whom I say, “No, how are they?”
“Food poisoning last week.”
“The times I mean, please.”
“Please, talk about the food.”
“So you’ve been here before?”
“Nada.”
“I beg pardon?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You neither, sounds like.”
“Me neither?”
“Been here before.”
I give a pause, “and supposing that is true?”
“Which it is.”
“Supposing it is,” I pause again, “what does that signify?”
“A mess, a mess for you.”
The feeling of depression and disquiet has overtaken me, and I feel I have to admit that yes, after all these years and all those hooverings, I am in a mess. He has my attention, and now he has my wallet. He’s using it to pay a bar tab. His favourite phrase always was, and I have to assume is and always will be, “better in than out.”