VALENTINE

With a beer held precariously between his middle and index finger Valentine shut the door and stepped out into the hallway. As he lit a cigarette the smell of "fuck" slid deep into his nostrils. Was he the only one in this building not running a goddamn sex operation? 

It was well past 1 am. 

Being broke didn't matter to Valentine. Having a hundred dollars or a dollar, he spent it all just the same; cigarettes, beer, rent, and Mila, the Russian whore on the 5th floor. He stood atop the steps listening. Occasionally he could hear Mila faking an orgasm for some hairy fat drip that would bust his nut between two slices of wet boloney while he waited to make enough money to visit her.  Tonight was quiet though.  Just the sound of Valentine's cheap tobacco crackling and his pitiful exhale. Where could he score some chemicals at this hour and how would he pay for it? He didn't need much. After all he only weighed 150lbs full of shit. 

He took another drag, chased it with a beer and began his slow descent down the "beautifully" carpeted stairs stained with more DNA than Jenna Jameison's vagina. Valentine knew it wasn't his night, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying to own it. 

It felt good to shut the front door and hear the lock snap into place behind him. It was a reminder of his second chance at life when he was released from prison two years ago. He didn't like to talk about it and that was fine with him because he had no one to talk too except Mila, but she had a short attention span.  

It was darker tonight as if a magnificent raven had died in mid air and was still falling. He walked twisting the loose gold ring around on his finger.  This could surely get him something from the Doctor.