The smell of a freshly-brewed coffee, early, praps too early, who cares, and the echoing of birdsong amongst the canopy of the terrace, the gentle scratching of that itch at the nape of your neck as you stretch and yawn, those stubborn eyes refusing to adjust not for a good hour to the dawning of another day, the pitied groan coaxed out of the rusted hinges barely holding the back door in place as you pull it open, and again as you pull it to, to sit on the steps in your garden and watch out over the neighbours rooves at the birds nesting in their antennae and amongst their chimneys, looking up at the dawn sky, blue, not much cloud, already warming up in the summer but still a hint of that morning chill, at least the drink'll tide you over.

A likely story, because yesterday morning weren't like that, nor the day before. But you're awake now, first order of business is to wipe the beer off your forehead and untangle your spine. After that you can worry about what day it is or where you are. Seemingly in some kind of hole. Trench, sewer, hell, K-hole, fuck if you know. What you do know is that you've been here a while. Days, months, you've made a few risky moves, so have they, it's a push-and-pull, it's hard work, it's loud, ears're ringing somethin' ancient, most of your joints make out like a car backfiring as you sit upright. You were here for something, you know that... it's either someone or something anyway. Someone who wants to floor you, that's it. What a mess... some life you lead.  

Well, better get to it then.