Mason awoke feeling as refreshed as was possible in this horrible fucking place. His injuries from the bird attack seemed to have healed, and his back and feet were considerably less sore, although still bright blue. Also to the good was the fact that the leather pants and frilly perfect shirt had vanished, but Gone With the Wind had not.

He briefly considered leaving the book in his room, but decided that he liked having it close to him, so he stuffed it once more down the front of his trousers, along with the cheaper pack of fags. He took a good long swig of the Jack, and stashed the bottle carefully back under the mattress before heading off in search of this "Sun Room" place.

As soon as he got there, enjoying the sorely-missed buzz the alcohol gave him, Mason bumped into a weird-looking kid huddling in a corner. Instead of getting angry at the boy, Mason grinned cheekily. The whiskey had put him in a good mood.

"Hey kid, what's your name?" the reaper asked.