The rotting smell is what woke him up. His nose was assaulted by the infernal mixture of odour emitted by the garbage he was lying in when he first became aware of himself.

Before, he had been floating around in a sea of nothingness, unaware.

He relished that peaceful memory before trying to move his hands to get up, only managing to dislodge the sludge and slime around him. He raised his hand, looked at the sopping waste on it, and promptly dropped it again, gagging.

After a long while of lying there in who knows what (he was very careful not to look down), he picked himself up, shaking himself to remove the excess waste, and tentatively picked his way out of there.

He was on the side of a dirt road, with a forest lining on his one side. The smell had thankfully gotten less gagging, now that he was away from the source.

The road led to a settlement that he could just make out. 

'Time to know where I am.' he determined

Plop

A huge large blob of wet waste dropped on the ground at his feet, fueling his disgust.

'Change of plans then.' He turned towards the trees instead, hoping to clean himself up in a stream.

=========

It did not take him long to find water flowing nearby, clean and beckoning. He did not think twice before jumping headfirst into it as he began the process.

Scrub, scrub, scrub

The memories were coming back to him. Not his own, mind you. But this body's.

Yup. They were different.

Rinse out. Scrub scrub.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He put his somewhat better clothes on a rock near him after rubbing them out with water. This will have to do for now.

Now, back to the memories. 

He was in a body of a man named Quin. Simple, plain, Quin. No one important, no family, no friends-well a few, if you can call the people who supplied him his drugs as friends.

Oh, and he was a drug addict too. Did I mention that?

To add to all of this, he was a drug addict in a time period where there was no known treatment for addiction or overdose.

Scrub and twist and there!

He laid out the last of his clothes- surprisingly many considering that he was a nobody- and stretched on the banks of the river, looking at the large white clouds floating by.

This is nice. 

He could get used to this. The large white cloud currently above his head moved slowly with the air, making the sun shine on his face.

Aah!

He took in a deep breath of satisfaction as he settled in for a nap.

======

His nap had lasted long enough for the sun to go down and for the cold to breeze through his body. He shivered.

Getting up from the very comfortable ground, he donned his clothes and took off towards the village he had spotted earlier.

The forest was all well and good, and not dense enough on this end to warrant many wild animals but who knows.

He was not going to die his first day in this body! Not after all the plans he had for it!

First step- Find a shelter for the night.

That was more easily said than done. He could recall the downright abysmal relationship he had with the village residents. He was the local druggie.

He did not expect much, but he had to atleast try.

After all, he was a changed man.

This sobered him up again. The man whose body this was, had likely died in it. The brain remembered the memories, and he was sure that he had an overdose from excessive opium use. 

He had tried hard, so hard, the real Quin. He had kept himself locked up in the hopes that he would not succumb, once again, to using drugs. It was no use though.

One slip one after seven days clean, and he was overdosing on the stuff. In his house.

Seizures, dilating pupils, the whole nines. It was not pretty. He was sure that he had also soiled his pants.

Which explained the weird smells in the crotch region, by the way. What it didn't explain, is why was in a lump of garbage by the road. Why not in the house he had died in.

Did he drag himself? Unlikely.

He continued onward to the brightly lit village, Whistling a jolly tune.

Whatever it was, he was on now, baby! He had a brand new body, no connections (because of the drugs), no obligations (also because of the drugs), no responsibility (we can see the pattern here). He was no one, to no one.

What might have been depressing to anyone else, made this new Quin feel elated.

On top of that, he had had no urge to take any substances, no swooping emotions or cravings of any kind. Seemed like the addiction had died with the body.

He kicked the stone he had been kicking for the last mile, skipping along.

He couldn't have asked for more!