The morning was a constant cacophony, an adult endlessly complaining by his ear, followed by the rustle of clothes, and then the shaking of the iron bed.
Lorenzo lay with eyes closed, trying hard not to let this annoying noise disturb his delicate meditation. He lay flat on the bed with his hands clasped, like a deceased person basking in holy light.
After a brief shake, Lorenzo could hear heavy breathing; this guy probably slipped and stepped in the wrong place.
A foot missed the step, resulting in a startled cry, which thoroughly snapped Lorenzo's tense nerves.
"Red Falcon, can't you roll over and sleep somewhere else?"
Lorenzo glared at his new roommate with bloodshot eyes.
"Huh? But there's only the warehouse left."
Red Falcon, wearing pajamas, had one hand on the railing and used the other to scratch his back. He appeared only half-awake, with hair sticking up, unable to grasp what Lorenzo was saying.
"Are you praying?"
