Snippet #1646129

Joseph woke up in a dark room sitting on the peeling floor with his back propped against an ugly couch trimmed with hound’s-tooth fabric. He felt like shit. His hands lay at his sides - the left holding a beer can, the right cradling a large canister. He brought the opening to his nose and sniffed. It was whiskey. He experimentally shook it and inside tinkled a small trickle of liquid.

He seemed to be in a small shack. The air was heavy and unfiltered. Apart from the couch he was leaning against there stood a small rickety commode in front of him, an ugly painting of flowers hanging above it; everything else lay bare. There were four windows, all of them squeezed on the left wall and covered with cardboard, and a door wedged between the second and third window. He saw the orange band of sunlight peeking on the sill.
He got very drunk last night because it had been a very bad week, a week full of raids, murders and losses. He always faced tragedy intoxicated. He had no idea how he wound up in this room. He tried to remember some detail from yesterday, but everything came to him wrapped in a thick film. Alcohol still swirled in his system and a major hangover started threatening against his temples and stomach. It's a good thing you didn't get nabbed by the feds, you moron. He quietly thanked the Lord for watching out for him in his stupor. It was good to have God on his side for a change.

Joseph closed his eyes and let out a slow even breath, then very cautiously got up, unhooking his fingers from the empty containers and bending over like an old man. Without a second glance he stumbled toward the door,opened it and stepped out into the street.
He wasn’t far from HQ and it was still morning, he realized with surprise as he took out a cigarette from the inside of his leather jacket – an outright miracle for him to be wide awake at this hour. He usually slept ‘till two in the afternoon, tired from his all night marathon supervising the radio station or making plans for the new movement against Society.

The mass of the Old City opened in front of him. Smoke wound itself around the tall decrepit buildings, girders and destroyed constructions like a serpent and the glass windows glared in the harsh sunlight. Papers and dirt rolled in the potholed street, carried by a slight breeze. Not a lot of people were out on the streets this morning, but the ones who passed him didn’t even give him a glance. Joseph looked like any other Exiled – dirty, sullen and mean.

He shielded his eyes with his free hand. The sunlight was starting to bother him. A thin needle of pain sunk into his brain; he was on the verge of a big headache. Pushing the cigarette into his mouth, he started walking towards the hideout. He might actually surprise Dusk in a good way for once.