Sal startled from the yelling and banging on the door awoke from his deep sleep. “You hear me in there, you fucking prick,” the shouts continued. Finally, the banging stopped. “Lazy piece of shit,” he heard mumbled through the wood door only a few feet away from his cot in his studio apartment. The sun struggled to poke its way through, but was overshadowed by the dingy paper shades taped up to the small window near his cot. The apartment was more like a six by eight cell in a prison. It was lifeless and gloomy matching what had become of Sal's life. He rubbed his forehead trying to fight the throbbing in his temples. The night before had been like many others within the past 13 months – filled with tequila, rum, topped off with a Budweiser. Anything to help him take the edge off and go to sleep. Ever since his wife had called it quits on their marriage, kicking him out of their home in the suburbs, life just hadn't been the same. Sure she kicked him out, but soon thereafter she found herself also homeless when the sheriffs tossed all of their belongings on the front yard in the sale.
