Winter, 1988.

12:51AM

A man working through his worst nights as a minimum wage slave was interrupted from the lightless work he tired at constantly of his tenth floor apartment, remembering the person they were talking to prior earlier today that wanted to say something to him.

Rushed sense of attire made mostly through his grey boxers and white t-shirt so, he would slowly make his way to the door, his scruffy husky fur and crystal eyes telling a toneless story.

”W—what…are you doing up so….late?”