On my way back upstairs with the paper this morning I noticed a guy sprawled out on the hall carpet on the second floor. I went up to him to see if he was okay. I thought he might have had a seizure getting in late to his apartment. I looked down and I couldn't tell if he was breathing. He was face up. A young man with dark hair. He had his keys and his smart phone next to him; his stomach was partially exposed. I smelled the telltale pungent sweet odor of alcohol. I nudged him and softly asked, "Hey, buddy. Are you okay?" When he opened his eyes they were as red as a vampire's. He looked at me through who knows what mists of stupefication. I knew what he was trying to determine because I had been in his situation many times as a young man; he was trying to figure out if he was dreaming or awake; and if he was awake, where the fuck he was. I asked, again softly, "Do you live in the building?" He mumbled something I couldn't make out and then he made an elaborate effort to unbunch his coat at the back; he pulled it close around him and rolled over on his side away from me.
Though our building supers are extremely vigilant about security and always reminding us, their tenants, to report promptly any suspicious visitors or activities in the halls, I decided to let the guy sleep it off. I can empathize. He wasn't in a condition to cause anyone any harm. Most likely after a little more shuteye he'll wake up and either go into his apartment or leave. I'm glad my days of drinking are over.
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