The joint over your lips releases a small thread of smoke that flies through the charged air.

You have little conscience, it's almost the only thing you know for now. You also know that you're still in some kind of abandoned building, there where homeless people get high.

It looks like a party, where people have a good time. Everyone's high. Your reddish eyes move around the room looking for something more interesting than the pain in your throat; too much weed.

A guy, not much older than you, seems to be calm and out of the atmosphere around you. Maybe it was the substance in your body that made you talk to him, or it was the feeling of finding someone similar to you in that place, sitting next to you.