-Morgan Delany, getting ...Home and Missing Dorian by a few moments?-<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://www.chicagobreakingnews.com/2010/08/24/yellow_cab_612.jpg)</div><br/><br/>Morgan stepped to the curb from the simple Yellow Cab that had dropped him off. His eyes seemed a tad unfocused, his stance just a little off as he passed the driver and inordinate amount of money for the short ride he had taken. It wasn't the driver's fault that Morgan was currently seeing double of everything, and smelled vaguely of European tobacco, Kentucky Bourbon, and very cheap perfume. No, that would be the faults of the Dunhill cigarettes, the Woodford's reserve , and a bevy of women whose names he should know but for some reason kept eluding him.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://1416andcounting.files.wordpress.com/2008/04/leon-der-profi-5.jpg)</div><br/><br/><br/>He shoved the money clip back into the front pant's pocket, right beside the remains of a thong of some sorts. He took a moment to stagger backwards and pull his own pants forward with the nerve to look. No, these were not his, he was still without his boxers. They, the boxers, were somewhere in another part of town on a body that was not his. He chuckled at that thought, the subtle laugh of the insane, or the truly hungover, as he turned and headed into the building. He avoided the elevators, the sudden motion would have him throwing up in no time flat. No, it was to be six flights of stairs.<br/><br/>He would either make his studio, or die in the attempt. The house was favoring the die in the attempt, and he knew, deep inside, that they, they evil people who he called peers, were already planning to divide his loot like pirates if he didn't make it in one night. In a way the thought warmed him, plastering a grin across his face that was the same smile as you get with you see that first hint of the hem of a stocking top because the woman has stretched to far. He made his way across the lobby, in a stumble shamble that would make Thriller proud,  without making eye contact with anyone. Half pushing, or falling, through the door to the stairwell, he took the first flight almost on his hands and knees. The urge to hurl was immense, but he held the reins and kept everything in place.<br/><br/><br/>One flight down and into the second was when Morgan shook his head, the second mistake in a series of mistakes. The first was to try and distract oneself when hungover, with something sexual. Not only would they find him dead, but aroused as well. Dignity... the first thing sacrificed in graduate school. Then the shaking of the head, not a good idea as there was a gremlin throwing the main and screaming numbers between his ears. No, No more nights with Russian's named Vassily, yet another thing on the ever growing list of "Shit I should never do again, no matter what." He got up and staggered up until the landing of the third. Mmm yup, three more to go, he would start praying for death in about 3 minutes.<br/><br/>( Will continue this at his studio )