He slept on the floor in the kitchen.
It wasn't his floor or his kitchen. It was his friend's.
He'd needed somewhere to stay and his friend had offered. The caveat being that the spare room and sofa were both already in action.
The place was like a hostel of some sort, he thought, people sleeping on almost every available surface.
Here he was under the table with his jacket for a blanket and his rolled-up trousers for a pillow.
He was aware that he would ache all over when he woke the next day.
They'd put away a near super-human amount of alcohol between them which would partially numb the pain of the hard mattress substitute and the only bonus was that if he peed himself during the night the floor wouldn't suffer too much. This was probably better news for his friend than it was for him.
Falling asleep was a lot more comfortable than waking up, but when isn't it?
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