����������� The soft light of dawn began its creeping journey through the window of the modest apartment, finishing on the face of the lone inhabitant.� He laid on his stomach, sprawled across the length of the full-sized bed, the plain white sheet tangled around his slender hips.� The gentle golden light cast a warm glow on his bare back, highlighting the tanned skin along with the black markings that adorned it, seemingly scratched thorns making their way down to the small of his back and up to the hairline of his neck.� His arms, which also bore the strange tattoo, curled protectively by his head, gripping the overstuffed pillow on which his face rested.� Long, medium brown bangs brushed his cheekbones, a bit managing to remain tucked behind his ear, where it flowed into the rest of his middle-back length mane.�
His face scrunched for just a moment before one deep green eye slowly opened to the sun�s morning greeting, and he slowly removed his arms from around the pillow, using his marked hands to push himself away from the bed.� It seemed he failed in his attempt, for he only twisted a bit and fell onto his back, one arm draped lazily over his eyes to block the sun which now shone directly onto his face, and showed the mark that descended over his shoulders and down his chest to his navel.
A guttural sound of protest escaped him before he reluctantly pulled himself into a sitting position, and shoved the sheet away from him, revealing his plain, grey cotton boxers.� Standing, he ambled his way to the window, and drew the curtains closed, grumbling a curse to them for continually opening.� He paused only to stretch his arms over his head and yawn, and then moved across the room once more, bending to pick up the clothes he had dropped to the floor late the previous night.� He carried them with him to the bathroom, and dumped them into the laundry hamper near the door before turning to face the mirrored medicine cabinet over the sink, leaning a bit heavily on the cool ceramic.
He merely stared at himself for a moment, raising one hand to lazily rub the weariness of sleep away from his eyes, and failing.� He turned on the cold water, scooping it up to splash on his face, and succeeded in at least waking himself up completely.
A cold shower and a trip to the closet later, the man started out of his apartment, dressed in clothes suitable for the weather that tortured New York in March.� Simple, barely baggy blue jeans hung just a bit low on his hips, falling down to cover the black hiking boots he wore.� His top half was covered by a black knit turtleneck, and a black coat that brushed the back of his knees, his hands covered by a simple pair of black fingerless gloves.� His hair had been tucked back into a more manageable ponytail at the base of his neck, but his bangs still fell freely about his handsome face.�
As he approached the glass door that served as the exit from the lobby of the apartment building, he paused, and turned to the wall lined with small mailboxes.� Pulling a key ring from his coat pocket, his unlocked the mailbox labeled �8D� and removed the few envelopes inside before closing the box again.� He looked over the mail, various bills, and some ads, which he promptly dropped into the nearby garbage can.� He paused when his eyes landed on the address of one of the bills.� Charles Grant.� Yes, that was his name this time, wasn�t it?� He rather liked it; he would have to remember to use it again some other time.
He folded the envelopes and stuffed them into his inner jacket pocket, then proceeded out the front door onto West 142nd Street, a street he knew quite well by now.� A thin layer of snow had touched the pavement during the night, but it was already beginning to thaw and disappear before he ever set foot on it.� A clock outside the Manhattan Chase Bank struck 8:30 from a block away, and Charles smiled.� He could practically count his steps to this spot, and start in perfect time with the chiming of that clock, every morning.� He honestly didn�t know why he always started out this way, except that it always seemed a bit of a change from the otherwise rather run-down area of the city when he stepped onto Broadway.� It was a quick walk around to the next street, where he turned from Broadway and headed towards the familiar grocer�s that was known as Dario�s.� Upon entering, he alerted the shopkeeper of his arrival with the small bell attached to the top of the door.
�Hey, Charlie!� the small, portly man said with a friendly smile from the aisle past the register.� �How are you doing today?�
�Not bad, David.� Can I have a couple of my usual?�
�No problem.�� He walked around behind the counter, and removed from the glass case two packages of Camel cigarettes, placing them in front of the register.� But he didn�t remove his hand from over them.� �I�m going to get you today.� I have a good one.�
�Alright, David, let�s hear it,� Charles answered with a chuckle, reaching for his wallet.
�For they are my slaves whom I bought out of the land of Egypt.� They must not sell themselves the way a slave is sold.�
�Leviticus 25:42.� Too easy.�
�Damnit!�� David grumbled as he removed his hand from the cigarettes, and accepted the money the other man offered.� �Just how in the hell do you do that?�
�When you�ve read it as many times as I have, you start to remember.�� Charles took the cigarettes, and tucked them into his pocket.
�You sure don�t seem to be the religious type.�
�Who said I was religious?�
�Well you read the Bible all the time, you said so yourself.� You carry one on ya, for Chrissakes.�� The man reached over the counter and poked the area of Charles� coat that covered a hidden pocket, and a small copy of the Holy Scriptures.
�Hey, you don�t throw away those things so easily.� I�ll have you know a real live Jehovah�s Witness gave this to me,� he said with a teasing grin, patting the pocket.
�Yeah, right.� How�s work goin�?�
�Not bad.� Kinda slow these past couple days.� Mike thinks it�s just too damn cold for people to be coming to a bar.�
�Well, if I had the time, I�d drop by.�
�I know.� I work all night you know, so I�m sure you�d see me.�
�I�ll see if I can get there tonight or tomorrow.�
�Deal.�� He shook the man�s hand before turning towards the door.� �Think up some good ones for me, David!�
�Will do.�
With that, he stepped back onto the street.