He woke alone. Where was he? He didn’t remember a thing, well nothing past the point of the drugs, and the alcohol. Acts of consumption almost always seem the same after a while. A collection of out of focus pictures, and sound bytes taken out of context, his life was unintelligible to most, but in the mix of aborted memories was a swirl of life, and it held and maintained his reality.
This however was new. The room was foreign. The dim lighting due to a dark sheet attempting to block out the light of the day he could see the outline of the window thru the sheet, It looked like a small TV up high on the wall. He discerned he was in a basement. He was still dressed; well he had his pants on. And looked around for his shirt and shoes in the dim lights, rolling out of the bed and searching the floor. Found them and he slowly open the door of the room, and he looked out. The rest of the apartment was dimly lit and empty. He heard the shower. In the kitchen he found a purse, he fished 5 dollars out the wallet. Let him self out of the apartment, and walked off down an alley to find a place to get a pack of smokes and a cup of coffee. As he walked he wondered whose house that was.