For a moment she wanted to help the man, but didn’t. It wasn’t easy for her not to help him. Something held her back, she didn’t know excactly what, but something did.
She just sat there, looking at him and feeling sorry. She wondered what she had got herself into this time, and the priest. She hoped he could find something to help this man.
He felt terrible, pain was everwhere, even his dick hurt. He looked up at the sky and felt the drizzle on his face. A roaring laughter sounded in his mind.
He didn’t know for how long he had been lying there before he sat up slowly. He looked at the container and spat at it before crawling to his feet, he felt spent and wanted a drink.
Without realising it he put his hand in the pocket and felt coins there. Sighing he looked around and started to walk to the bar he had been a few days ago to get another shot of grinnitch.
Rather unsteadily he got back to the alley floor and started for the bar in swaying steps as he still felt rather unstable. He didn’t look back, he didn’t dare out of fear of being assaulted again.
The moment he was out of sight the young woman climbed to the side of the container to see where he had been digging. Carefully she looked at the spot before looking at the image of the shirt with the devil’s face on it. She admired the craftmanship, but didn’t like the image itself.
With her foot she pushed away some rubble to get to the name of the company that had send the container. She felt a little tingle going up her leg and pulled it back instantly. Looking around she saw a piece of wood and got it to dig further. This time she felt nothing and assumed she was safe.
As she dug deeper words became visible. At last she could read all it said. Clothes for the well to do from the devil’s den. Binkare; from the west.