The first thing you notice about these places is the putrid smell. Every den reeks of desperation, the smell of men and women who gave up on existence long ago. The splitting headache makes it hard to open my eyes, besides what’s the point; it always looks as bad as the aroma it puts off. I’ve grown accustom to the sense offending hell holes that are sloth dens but you never truly get use to it, it just becomes easier to ignore over time. Looking around I’m sure I’ve been here before but they all tend to look the same. Similar grungy people you see but never converse with, the same dingy mattresses on the hard concrete floors, and even the same piles of rotting garbage splayed all over.
Unfortunately, as some of my short term memory returns to me, this is a specific den, the den I call home. I honestly don’t know why I always come back to this one when juiced, maybe it’s the false sense of familiarity with my surroundings. Fighting the intense pulses of pain in my head, I reach into my pocket in hope of some sort of recollection of the night before. A wrapper from the sloth patch bought prior to this interesting bit of short term amnesia, expected. A disturbing lack of credits, what a shock. And lastly, as I continue to search through my pockets, I pull out a condom which leads to the sudden realization of the woman sleeping in the bed behind me. I really hope this is a second condom and that I’m not as stupid as I feel. The woman does however explain the lack of credits. She isn’t a beautiful woman, not by any sense of the word, but I image at the time she was, or that at least it didn’t seem to matter. At minimum she looked in her 30’s, possibly older but Sloth has a way of aging you, making this wonderful guessing game pointless. She has long blonde hair, ratted into near dreadlocks and what looks to be half a pound of makeup left behind on the already disgusting mattress. I’ve got to get my shit together.
It’s funny how much the brain and body struggle to compromise. My brain tells me to get up, to do something, but my body seems to be long gone on a vacation and refuses to check its messages. The feeling of thirst and hunger washes over my body like the tide washes over the beach. I need to find work, something significant. I can’t handle this few credits here, few credits there shit I’m doing now. I had more consistent work mowing lawns as a kid. If I could just get my hands on some fake credentials maybe I could score some steady work. Dock, warehouse, and other various backbreaking work are essentially all thats remains of legitimate work in Seattle.
World War III changed everything. It started out slowly, the government taking a political backseat to the fight, choosing, for once, to stay out of Asian affairs. China, the only economically stable country at the time, started forcefully buying up surrounding countries, invading and capturing those who resisted. China’s empire grew to extraordinary strength while the world blissfully...