It was one of those days. Archie Harold swore as his hand slipped and caught on some broken glass. He shook it a few times before sticking it in his mouth, sucking away the blood.

The room was full of dangerous items, mixed in among the glittering gold and diamonds. Well, perhaps not diamonds, but to Archie's swollen eyes, the quilted bed and working lamp were as good as a fortune. He tore off a strip of his shirt and wrapped it around the wound, ignoring the forty foot drop as he dangled from one hand.

“Goddamn windows. Who the hell locks their windows five stories up? Loonies, that's who. Goddamn loonies,” he muttered, steaming the fragments of glass with his breath. He looked around, wondering if anyone would be watching- if he just...well, who would be staring up at four thirty in the morning? Loonies, that's who. Goddamn loonies. He took a deep breath and swung back his arm, balling his fist before smashing it into the already half broken glass. It shattered, spraying outwards and hitting his face. He spit out a shard and climbed in.

The warmth of the room was intoxicating, and he sighed as he lay on the bed. Charlene wouldn't be back for days, he knew, and he was free to enjoy the comfort of electricity until then. He looked toward the window and shrugged. She had a job, probably she could afford to fix it.

His hand throbbed in time with his head, pulsing with the handle of Vodka he had consumed that night. He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing as he counted the days. It was the first of the month, which meant he had 29 days. 29 days until it happened again. 29 days to wreak havoc on his body, enjoying every last penny he spent. 29 measly little days.

He was awoken by a scream. Grunting, he rolled out of bed, landing with a thud on the dusty floor. “Whowhatsit?” he mumbled, clutching his head and peering up. Charlene's stilettoed foot came into view, already halfway on its journey to his face. He yelped and scrambled up, catching her heel in his stomach.

“Archie?” her voice screeched as her foot came out again, “Archie!” it rose a notch. “Archie, you drunken bastard, what the hell are you doing in my room?”

“I thought you were gone,” he groaned, balling up against her kicks.

“Gone? Gone! Did you think me being gone was permission for you to come in here? You sorry son of a bitch! Get out! Out!”

“I can't move if you keep kicking me,”

“You deserve them!” she shouted, but the thrusts slowed, and he was able to move. He got up, mentally counting the seconds until she noticed the window.

“How did you even get in he-” her voice stopped, and he knew he was in deep shit. He made a break for the door, throwing it open and running down the five flights of stairs, gasping as her voice penetrated through the concrete.

He burst out the front door of the building, holding his side as it cramped. The daylight was sickening, and he waited only a moment before throwing up on the bushes outside her complex.

“Present for ya, bitch,” he muttered, staggering out to the street.