I woke up in a small living room, covered by an eiderdown, warm and snug and with a cracking head. I stared about, bleary eyed and confused. Where was I? How did I get here? There was only one way to find out.
Getting up was work and I nearly gave up and tried to go back to sleep, but my bladder was uncomfortably full and my mouth felt like a cat had slept in it. No way I was going to sleep. There were two doors, both open. One led to a kitchen, the other to a short corridor with other rooms. It was a small, poky, damp-smelling house and I wasn't impressed. I went through the kitchen and opened a back door, then closed it rapidly.
We were still in the city. Not good. Still, my bladder was insistent.
The door opened on to a small, wooden landing with steps down to an alley. I took a leak over the side of the steps and went back in as soon as I could. No one saw me.
Beer. The thought nagged insistently. Take away the taste of yesterday's drinking, start the taste of today's effort. There wasn't any beer. “Damn.” There was water in a bucket. I drank some and my stomach hated me for it. Still, it was all there was. I took a glass back to bed, sipped it as I sat there alone for a while. Then I curled up and tried to go back to sleep. It was early. No one was up. Why should I be surprised?
I was hardly safe, and now less comfortable. And there was no beer, dammit. Wine would have done. Anything. How do people live in a house with no booze in it? I tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable, but there was no choice. I had nothing to sell. It took a while, but eventually I slept.