The open stairwell was misty, the light was unable to penetrate through the thick fog in the darkness.

But from my memory and the vague blobs reflected onto my eyes, I could normally have at least guessed which way to which. If I was sober that was.

The bottle of gin was open and sloshing around in my hand as I stumbled down. Reaching out my right hand to stabilise myself on the wall I unknowingly pressed upon a softer substance, a shoulder of a man, I would guess from this time of the night.

"S- Sorry" I slurred my speech as I attempted to apologize to this person.

But suddenly, he pushed me back, sending me stumbling as I let go. Falling back, but the expected jolt of the ground never came.

The fall seemed to continue for what felt like hours, and before long the air rushing past my back seemed to disappear. I felt suspended, in some sort of limbo with nothing around me. Cracking open my eyelids, all I could see was the man who pushed me, standing behind the railing.

'You' was all my eyes cried before the pavement took me.

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"The victim is called James Winter, 37 years old, unemployed as of yesterday, of German origin, 2nd generation immigrant. Only 1 relative, the mother, lives in England," the officer recited from his folder. "All his items seems to be in order, though the fingernails on his left index finger is trimmed, but we're not sure why. His right hand also seemed to be in a pointing position for some reason. The alcohol test show a .2 readin- ah!"

Mid-sentence, the officer tripped on the pavement. His blonde hair dangled while his face almost fell onto the victims [i]unmentionables[/i], if he was not stopped.

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Grabbing onto his collar, the detective pulled him up, all the while hollering , "You're going to contaminate the evidence, you bellend!"

The officer immediately stiffened up at the saliva showering his face, scared to speak a word.

After he raged at the rookie, he sighed and turned to face the victim, somewhat solemn.

"The victim was drunk and fell from the stairwell killing himself. There was no evidence of any foul play, so this case is ruled as an accident. Write up the report and put it on my table tomorrow morning." The detective immediately turned around and left the scene for the rookie officer to clean up, not staying for a moment longer.

He always grumbled that the victim was a 'stupid idiot' at every one of these cases, but looking at his lonely hunched back, everyone knew that what he expressed was never anger, but instead sadness.

Off to the side, a camera flashed. The young man in his 20s holding the camera took a few more photos, his brown left eye wincing as his emerald green right eye looked through the viewfinder. After packing away his camera, he left the scene, with no-one noticing.

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The news report showed the picture of the man who fell from the stairwell, as the man who sat on the old patchy couch smoked on his cigarette, the smell of lung cancer wafting through the air.

With a jingling of keys at the door, the young man immediately barged in, greeting the smoke in the face.

Coughing and wheezing for a while, the young man was finally able to complain: "can you stop smoking in the living room, it smells like shit in here!"

In response, the man on the sofa waved with his hand which held the cigarette, before returning to his previous position.

"I'll leave the photos and the notes I took on the table for now, you can take a look at them later." As the young man took the notepad and camera from his bag and put it on the kitchen counter, he opened the window next to him "Ahhhhh... fresh air. Okay I'm gone"

With a final quip, the young man left and the man was once again alone with the sound of a tv commercial in the background.

"Well," he grunted as he stood up, waking his tired legs by walking to the kitchen. "It's time to start cooking... Pft-" Laughing at his own joke, the man started making lunch, while reading the notes left on the counter.