His breath reeked. He reeled in his own druken stupor before straightening up, and taking another pull on his beer. The dim scene afforded little appealing to his tired eyes. Grace was here again as usual in her attempt to find the husband that would never come. On some of the nights he found her here, he could feel pity. But that was usually right before realizing he was there as well. He threw his change on the bar with a bill he had found earlier that day, and slowly wound his way through the tables to the door. The barkeep only briefly acknowledged his departure after counting the money he had left.
Out on the street was different, he decided. It was always changing, never static, like his life before. The jet set had never really suited his tastes anyway. About the only thing he missed was the softness of the pillows.
He awoke sweating, wi