The saying goes, the transition from cold to warm is the hardest time to endure.
At this moment, Sylvan Cheney leaned against the chair, smoking, with his eyes closed, yet unable to sleep.
There was pain in his wrist, but it was nothing compared to the headache.
On the balcony, a cloud of smoke rose, and the ashtray beside him was already full of cigarette butts. This strong cigarette hit hard, the intense nicotine easily stimulated the nerves.
This stimulation made Sylvan even less sleepy.
He opened his eyes to gaze at the endless sky and tall buildings outside; the night was deep.
He didn't know what time it was when he stubbed out the cigarette, threw a blanket over himself, and closed his eyes to sleep on the chair.
The lighting in the house was dim, and the balcony was even darker.
Sylvan lay motionless and fell asleep just like that.
In a daze, he had another shallow dream...
