Sunlight crept casually through the accidental parting of the curtain. Outside, the city hustled in its usual manner, the continual drone of vehicles and population were nearly unheard from flat number five-fifteen. Inside, the only noise came from the steady snoozing of the lump on the sofa, curled tight under an accumulation of blankets.

The lump stirred, and Friedrich leisurely emerged from the mountain that had begun to suffocate him. He groaned as he tried to blink back the blinding light surging from the television that had been left on during the night. He reached slightly uncoordinated to the bottle of cold medicine by the side of the couch, only to discover the bottle was empty.

Friedrich wasn’t sick, but he regularly enjoyed the legal high he could attain from liquid cold suppressant. He lazily tossed the bottle behind him, it crashed with a dull thud against the wall. Friedrich stared blankly at the television, wallowing in self-pity.