hisses. Fuck, there's a spider in his kitchen, where is his broom?
pressing a pack of ice against his broken jaw, some old jazz playing on the radio.
hiding his new haircut under a hat.
apparently has more codfish than what to do with it.
sighs at the long e-mail he got from his son, Brazil, all jokes about the new Pope. Why, Lord, why.
[Event] is surprised to see the bar he used to play at closed, and is standing dully at the entrance, guitar in hands.
[Event] is back on the streets, playing his music again after his shift.
[Event] went to the shop after his shift had ended, where he was to meet up with the android Alfred.
[Event] is happy to have found a job at a bakery.