He was suffering from a hangover when Joan had first met him.
An empty bottle stood next to his slumped sitting figure, his back too used to the cold hard concrete under it. At first glance, he had a look of a sleeping homeless man. No one would take notice of the liquor bottles that surrounded him since there was too much trash around to take in. The eye immediately fell on the mop of dark hair that was bowed downward in unconscious defeat. The man was wrapped in a worn patchwork quilt that looked too good for someone like him to own. His toes poked out of ancient loafers, revealing dirty nails and dry skin.
Joan slowly inched toward him. Her bags crinkled in her hands as she approached. She had been watching this spot for a couple weeks and this man always seemed to be there, in the same position. Gradually she began to suspect that he was dead. Yet there was a different bottle next to him every day. Today it was a half full bottle of Jack. Yesterday's vodka bottle was shattered in pieces in front of him. The only thing that reminded intact was the neck.
"Hello?" A breeze drove through the alley as she leaned closer to the ragdoll of a human. He appeared to be breathing but slower than was normal. Joan hesitated before giving his upper arm a nervous poke.
The head twitched a bit, almost like a muted flinch. But it remained down, chin buried into his chest.
She poked him again. She wasn't sure why she wanted to wake him up. Probably because she had been studying him for a while and couldn't help feel pity for someone who seemed to just exist. Most of the homeless she lived with had hobbies like music, dance, something that kept them occupied from diving into the reasons why they were there. This man had alcohol instead.
Slowly the head rose and she took in the bush of hair that was growing on him like a wildfire. The only sign that the grizzly bear before her was human were the two piercing eyes that were looking at her. They were gazed with the influence of booze but the color was unique.
"Hey. You hungry?"
He blinked and just stared at her. It wasn't an angry stare. But it wasn't kind either. In fact, it lacked life at all. She felt like she was looking into the eyes of a dead corpse.
Her hands rustled against the plastic of her bag as she pulled out a weathered sandwich. Joan held it up in offering, a light smile on her face. "Here. Looks like you need it more than I do."
His eyes finally moved from her face and down her hunched body. He eyed the stuffed Christmas sweater and faded jeans dully. Her tennis shoes shuffle his blatant examination of her body.
"I think you need it more than me." His voice was not what she expected at all. A deep rumble maybe but instead, it is soft and quick, remarkably clear after its journey through the man's beard.
"Says the guy that hasn't eaten for several days." Joan moved the sandwich closer to his mouth. His eyes had a small spark of surprise in them at her last statement. She sees the filth under his fingernails as he takes the sandwich from her with his right hand and shoves it toward a patch of hair. After a minute, it resurfaced from the hair depths, a large bite of it missing. His eyes remained glued to her face as he ate. It was unnerving.
"The name's Joan." Again, the man was silent, polishing off the food in a matter of five minutes. She had seen hungry men devour disgusting edibles from the trash many times in this life yet this calm eating was foreign to her. It was mannered and dignified, despite the man's general appearance.
"Thank you." The two words had a waterfall of emotion behind them; just by the way they were spoken. It was obvious that the man had a heavy amount of baggage on him. In her watching of him, she couldn't get away from the feeling that he had long lost the will to life and were merely waiting for death to greet him like an old friend. Her heart ached to save him from himself.
Joan stuck out her hand, her aged veins pronounced. "There's more. We've got an empty warehouse a few blocks from here. Could use another set of hands." The man's eyes had a brief flash of an unfathomable emotion. He made no move to reach for her.
She waited, her hand getting goose bumps from the cool air around them.
Sloth – like, he placed his hand cautiously into hers. It was callous and hard as if he washed his hands in sawdust daily. His knuckles had scabs and she suddenly had the feeling he had been in several fights.
The way he struggled to get upright, however, changed her mind. As he swayed to the left, she wrapped one of her arms around his waist and gave him a tug toward the exit of the alley. A groan of agony escaped his lips and a hand flew to his forehead.
"Hangover." He said coarsely. He dragged his feet as they walked on the sidewalk. Joan could feel him breathing on top of her head, his greasy locks tickling her forehead as he leaned on her for support.
She didn't respond but gritted her teeth slightly at his weight. She wasn't as strong as she used to be and this man seemed to be pure muscle. It took a while for them to reach the warehouse door, where a young woman with a harmonica looked up from her half eaten drumstick.
"Look what the cat dragged in." She made no effort to help Joan as she hastily dumped the barely conscious man unto a sheet of cardboard. He landed awkwardly on his shoulder, a crack of bone audible.
The woman with the drumstick leered at the tall bundle of clothing and nudged him with her foot. "Does it have a name?" Her voice had a tone of disinterest.
"John." He managed to wheeze out as he gripped his shoulder in dizzy pain before everything went black.
A/N – I have an idea to make this a series of one-shots based on Reese's hobo days. Not sure yet though. Depends on the interest.
Also, I need a website to backup my fanfiction besides Tumblr and I'm debating between WordPress and LiveJournal. If you had a suggestion, please leave it in your review or PM me, I would appreciate it.