Mr. Carson sits there in his room, the gorgeous bed and other elegant furniture begging him to stay home, but his unease making him want to get the fuck out of the house. Where others saw extravagence he only saw Cherubael, or smelled the scent of burning, or heard the moans and wails of adoration for the demon. He needed to get the fuck out... and with that, he made his way out of the house, heading to a local coffee shop. He sits down just as the sun has set, and orders the strongest thing they have. He sits brooding over the steaming cup, hating himself for what he has allowed himself to become. He hears a whistle or some other call from from the kitchen in the back and it somehow kicks up the memory of the homeless guy. The scream he made when Mr. Carson drew the knife across his neck, oh how he loathed the fact that he made the man ask for it... "What have I become......"
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