"What in the world..."  John mumbled, rubbing his eyes it gently.  He was looking up at a ceiling, but it certainly wasn't the ceiling of his apartment, which had been the last place he could remember.  He had been typing up a story.  Another one of his stories about big government abuse of taxs stories, which while gaining some attention, never seemed to be enough to get large enough interest to convince the average person to give much of a damn.<br/><br/>He got off the small, uncomfortable bed, kicking his legs over the end and looking around his new enviroment.  He seemed to be in...something.  Perhaps an old store room.  His eyes quickly came to attention on another man in the room.  He seemed to be sitting on one of the wooden crates.<br/><br/>"Hey."  John called out.  "Who are you and where the hell is this?"