He settled for a few pairs of undies hidden in a junk drawer. He also found a way to forget Janet. It was called drink. Alcohol, booze, the sauce, the magic elixir that substitutes oblivion for pain. He was a world class drinker in a few years.
Every alcoholic knows that one piece of advice they receive is sincere but wrong.
Of course it works. It can tinge grim life with a roseate glow, or provide an unconsciousness in which one literally feels no pain. It is, of course, also fatal. The crushing hangovers and the bitter indescribable frustration were simply the immediate impetus. Janet first noticed the warm brown eyes that belied the dignified mien.