It was a night like all the others since he had quit his job.
Derek would wear one of his new suits and wander off the city, to see what would it kill him first, the cancer or a random crazy head.
Once reached exhaustion or simply boredom he would then take a cab and get back home.
Derek was walking with quick strides, high on his medications when he saw him.
Chris Wainright.
He was holding a bottle of liquor, ill-hidden inside a paper bag, from which he would drink in big gulps.
Chris was talking and laughing loudly with a teen girl that was showing a lot of skin.
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