He barely had the strength to open his eyes. It was tough to breathe. A taste of vomit stuck in his mouth. His throbbing head tormented him. A streetlight filtering through the room’s one dirty window revealed some of the surroundings. Old chairs and tables stood stacked in one corner. A tabletop grill leaned against a wall. The smell of smoke and scorched plastic was everywhere. He lay on an old couch about as comfortable as a torture chair. He sat up, groaning. “Welcome back.” He heard Chandu’s deep bass voice. Jan’s friend was standing at the door, watching the hallway through the crack. Loud shouts from outside filtered into the room. Noise from the stairway was deafening now, as if a whole class of schoolkids were running up and down. “How you doing?” Chandu asked him. “Had better days,” Jan said. He held his forehead and winced, feeling a wound over an eye.
