*Read with appropriate, stereotypical American detective voice*

It was a god damn miserable November day. I sat in my office, looking out on the pitiful streets below me, with a bottle of whisky and a brain set to 'self destruct.' I had been abusing myself, life seemed to lack that feeling of, of , well my life sucked. I had nothing to look forward to anymore and I was short of ending it all.

When something arrived. Something that changed my life forever.

It was a flyer, for some sleazy bar down on the avenue. I nearly threw it in the trash. But then I noticed, on the back were 9 words. 'Follow these clues and it will all make sense.' I had no idea what this meant, or who had sent it. "What clues?" I exclaimed "What clues!" I shouted again, the musty air hung around me, with no intention of replying. However at the moment I answered my own question, God, I had been so stupid, the bar on the flyer. That would be where my trail began.

'The Diablo' was not the kind of place you would want to take your mother. Decent folk had left it long ago and now the only customers that infected the bar stools were the scum of the city. Not one head turned when I entered that joint; it smelt of cheap perfume, stale smoke and decaying dreams.
"Does anyone have a message for me?" I shouted.
No answer.
"Does anyone know anything about a clue?" Again no answer. Only the scratched records, playing tuneless jazz could be heard.
Suddenly my head swam, my eyes went blurry, and I stumbled towards the nearest stool and threw myself on it. I was so god damn thirsty.
"Gimme a drink" I said slamming my fist on the bar top. Then it all goes black.

I dunno how much I drunk, but it must have been a hell of a lot. Cause I woke up the next morning with a headache the size of China.

I looked at my phone to check the time and noticed I had a text, '55416' at first it made no sense, was it some code? But then I realised, it was a zip code. A postal code, for somewhere right here in this state, in this town. That would be my next clue, but I better hurry, that text was sent an hour ago and there may be someone who I have to talk to. I ran to put my pants on and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror 'Had I lost weight?' Nah, I would worry about it later; I grabbed a coffee and ran out the door.

I reached 55416 unbelieving of what it was. A public toilet. Was this some sort of joke? How did this wise guy know I needed to go more often then I ever did before. But I guess that's what age does to you. I leaned on the wall, I was so tired I felt like I hadn't slept at all last night, and still so thirsty, I just didn't feel myself any more. Then I saw it, I can't believe I hadn't seen it before, there was graffiti on the wall, I walked over to read it, knowing it would be my final clue. Then my head swam again, eyes blurred, but this time I had no stool to fall on to, only the side walk and that's where I fell.

I woke up to a white ceiling and cold blue walls with machines beeping around me and the sharp pain of a drip in my hand.
"You're very lucky" said an attractive nurse not looking up from reading one of my charts. "A little longer and things could have got much worse for you."
"What are you talking about?" I said drowsily
"You're diabetic silly, couldn't you read the signs?"
Then suddenly it all made sense, the clues were my symptoms, I had seen all the commercials. I should have seen it before. Who ever it was leading me on that quest, well they only had my best interests at heart. But still I had to wonder who they were. Or how they knew.

After that life only got better, I ate the right stuff and looked after myself, my life sorta seemed to have a purpose, a purpose it was lacking. It wasn't an easy condition to cope with and I mean, I wouldn't have chosen to have it, but it did mean I sorted every rotten thing in my life out. I still don't know who sent me those clues, I wonder about it sometimes. I hope they can see what they've done for me and how I'm not, wasting my life any more.

Diabetes sorta saved my life.

Which is ironic.