The couch in Frankie’s apartment looked more like something fit for a dog than a human. Smelled like it too. But no one could argue – it was comfy either way. He didn’t have the ability to sit down for more than a minute at a time anyhow, if he wasn’t doing something. The little black coffee-table in front of it was filled with beer cans, ash-trays, cigarettes, CDs, food-remains and whatnot. Perhaps it was time to clean up? Of course it was. More like long ago. But it wasn’t really tempting.

Frankie hated doing anything but what he absolutely wanted. But even he started to find the trash-mountain in the middle of the tiny place to be sickening. He went over to the kitchen-corner, looking beneath the sink. Found a trash-bag. Frankie stopped and stared at it for a few seconds. Almost like he was waiting for it to start flying around, cleaning up by itself. Man, that would have been great. But even he needed stronger stuff than the joint he just smoked to believe something like that.

He walked the few steps back to the table with the non-magic bag in his hand. Found a cigarette-box with just a few loners left in it and started to fill it up with all the cigs on the table worth saving. Even though the shop was going well he didn’t wipe his ass with money. Frankie took a quick look over the CDs on the table. Picked up Ozzy, Mötley and Poison and threw them over to the couch. The rest were mostly copies and shit others had brought over. And some crappy pop.

With the bag at the end he emptied the ash-trays and scooped everything else on the table down in it, tied it shut and threw it across the room, landing next to the door. To actually go out with it would be a whole other struggle. With his hands on his hips he looked at the table, quite proud of himself. Now he had cleaned today too! Damn! He was still bored though, and the silence was killing him. It was no reason to head over to the studio either just yet, way too early. Nor did he have any set appointments either. “What to do?” He sang, picking up a cig and lighting it. He needed to get outside. See some faces. Have a laugh.

He picked up his beanie lying on the couch and put it on in front of the mirror, hanging slanting on the grey wall next to the door – which used to be white once. He smiled to his own reflection. A dude with a cig in his mouth, with tired eyes painted with eyeliner. “Fucker!” He laughed, put on his hooded jacket and went outside to the hall. He never locked the door, so if a friend wanted a place to stay (s)he would always have a place to go. There was nothing of value in the apartment anyway, such things was kept in the shop.

He walked down the grey hall, passing four-five doors on the way. Frankie hadn’t had any trouble with the neighbors yet, but no one stayed there for long, so there were always new faces. Keeping mostly to themselves. It would be great to get out of this trashy place for good though, but saving money wasn’t one of Frankie’s abilities, so there wasn’t any bright light in the nearest future anyhow. But he didn’t worry much about it. Right now he only wanted a good time.

A chilly wind met him when he got out on the street. Most likely coming from the harbor. He put his hands in his pockets and began walking down the alley, hoping to see some faces.