Hammersmith, 1978.
Hammersmith is a good place to live when the necessity of living in London doesn't quite meet the financial capacity of living in London. Of course, nothing particularly interesting ever happens in Hammersmith, but god bless the Queen for public transportation; furthermore, the 70's was England's, and logically every last corner of London spilled out good music and anarchy.
The flat Lupin and Black managed to rent for a few pounds a week couldn't be over twenty meters squared. It was equipped with a bunk bed from the fifties, a stove from the forties and a sofa with a quaint little family of amenable rodents as tenants. Nothing a spell or another couldn't fix, of course – the point is that this was their flat, and that was London, and those were the seventies.
Sirius taught Remus to listen to The Clash, Ramones, Sex Pistols and Buzzcocks. Remus helped Sirius find his first job as a delivery boy for a random company, which in turn was an excellent excuse for Sirius to use his bike every day.
It was a random Sunday in mid-October. There was no work on Sunday, and October was already cold enough to just be phagocytosed by your sheets in sheer leisure. Last week had been hell. The shower had burned, the carburetor of his bike busted, one of the flat's divisions fell down because of termites.
But today was Sunday, and Sirius decided he wouldn't get out of bed for anything.
And so, when his alarm clock started yelling it was an anti-Christ, Sirius found it to be quite sensible of him to just punch the 'snooze' button instead of cursing the object into the next generation.
"You know, you're wasting your life expectancy."
The bare feet looked cold, but the coffee blew steam across the grinning face of his roommate. The shoulder supported by the portal was clothed in and old and thorn Beatles shirt.
"Getting old is for the weak. Put that coffee down, a little waste will do you well."