Flopping down on his bed, Christopher flung his arms out on either side of him, allowing the cold night air to drift through the window and unsettle his hair. He liked the night, or at least evenings. It must have been something that he couldn't remember from when he was a kid, no taller then his father's knee.
He let out a soft snort at the thought of his father. "Nothing but a drunk," he muttered. Sitting up, he ran a hand through the shaggy tresses of hair that fell in his eyes.
"But then again, so am I…."