NEW WRITING:

His shirt was ripped and torn, buttons missing, stains looked new. His jeans were gone, but his underwear intact. He sat on the edge of a bed that wasn't his. He couldn't remember whose, at this point it didn't really matter. He looked down and he had two mismatched socks, neither of which were his. He sighed, turned his head up to look at the ceiling, closing his eyes tight shut. He tried to think of nothing for a while, even for a short space, but it never really worked. He let his head drift back down, opened his eyes, and stared at his mismatched socks - pink and blue. Ain't life grand, he muttered to himself. Ain't life fucking grand.