Clayton Radshaw
Location: London, some dirty old alleyway.
Interacting With: Anybody.
Interacting With: Anybody.
The bright light of a rising morning pieced the thin flesh of Clayton's eyelids. Groggily he shook his head trying to hide from the sun as the cool crisp outside air ran along his skin. Shit, he was outside...
It seemed to have gotten much brighter by the time Clay opened his eyes again, he squinted as he looked around trying to assess his location and situation. He was by no means feeling ok, but there had defiantly been occasions before were he had woken up feeling much worse.
His head was splitting with a pounding headache, he had poor recollection of the night before, the strong residual smell of whiskey hung on his breath and he had the faint taste of blood on his lips. No there was nothing unusual here.
Despite all reasonable logic and indicators he still prayed to find himself in a large soft bed with luscious white sheets and an exotic strange girl wrapped in his arms.
As his eyes adjusted to and filtered the piercing painful light he quickly looks around and lets out a deep loud long disappointed sigh, reality hit him hard and confirmed the initial thoughts he wanted to hide from. Clay lay outside amongst a rubbish heap in a dirty small back alley.
Surprisingly, even though the odds were against him, he was still both saddened and disappointed by this, as it meant there would be no breakfast or morning sex today.
With a groan he picks his battered, bruised and injured body off the floor and recollects the night before....
Last Night
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