The man known as Solomon Kane looked around the small apartment that he'd just gotten the key for; like most of his life, it was under the table and on the side. An almost literal hole in the wall apartment with the barest of furniture. In a way, there was an elegance in the simplicity of the place - a single futon mattress on the floor, a plain table with two chairs. A countertop. A fridge. All the essentials.

Breathe it in
Let the fear consume you
Then force it out
Remember that it's not true

The higher you climb
The farther you fall
But don't be ashamed
Of wanting it all

He dropped heavily into the chair and pulled out the bottle from the small plastic bag he'd gotten from the store down the street. It wasn't the best he'd ever drank, but that last paycheck from the last town was starting to run thin. He'd need to find something that approximated work and soon, but that was next week's problem.

It was quiet in the small apartment as he drank, letting the whiskey slowly unkink the muscles of his body from the long ride between towns as much as it unkinked the knots that lay buried in his brain. The austerity of the place seemed to be somehow fitting as he slowly worked himself through the majority of the bottle. It was a far cry from the life he'd known before - some voice in his brain took great delight in noting how much she would have hated the bare walls and simply furnishings. But she wasn't here now, was she?

What was here was the bottle, and the Work.

There was always the Work.

Cause the view from the top
Is beautiful but fleeting
The world seems to stop
But looks can be deceiving
You're surrounded
But you'll always be alone
So pick a place, pretend it's home