In a dumpster: Wren I/Si M
It was too fucking hot. Even with the sun rolling down from its Sisyphean pinnacle and sloping into evening, it was just too fucking hot. Si had to leave his trailer, because even sitting in front of the box fan was like being slow-roasted. It wasn't that it was cooler outside. It wasn't. And Si's dark clothes were sticking to him—to his back, to his chest, to his arms. But, he was hoping he could find somewhere downtown with air conditioning, where he could spend some time. A lot of the other junkies from the flop house liked the frequent the library, shoot up in the bathroom, that kind of thing, but Si wasn't really in a place to run into his dealer. Like the sun, he was on his own endless downward swing. He wasn't messed up about it, because he knew he had what he needed. So, now he could focus on finding some relief from the heat. But, his car had a flat and he had to walk downtown, with heat holding against his skin.
He had some old, cord-tangled ear buds in, and he was listening to music as he miserably shuffled toward the bookstore/coffee shop. He didn't hear the thin voice crying out. Luckily for him—and for the owner of that voice, he decided to take a look in the dumpsters in the alley he was cutting through, in case there were any discarded cans he could return for a few cents. He was a big guy—Si. 6'3" and broad. And he had no trouble lifting the (hot) plastic top of the dumpsters and tossing them back, so he could look inside.—As he got closer to one, the top already flipped up, he slowed. Si tugged out an ear bud to listen to the tinny cry for help coming from within. He asked himself and his myriad ghosts, are you fucking kidding me?, then went to the lip of the dumpster in question and looked over the corroded metal lip. Inside, there was a kid in a night gown. Si pulled out his other ear bud, tucked them both into his back pocket with his phone, and sighed. "Hold on," he told the kid in his gruff, gravel-grit voice, and with a little bit of a running start, he was able to partially vault into the gross metal container, swarmed with flies and filth in the heat.
Large feet landed on the floor of the dumpster with a loud BANG and Si ran his shoulder into the back of the thing with an excess of inertia. Which fucking hurt. Dark circles under his eyes and his skin a telling waxy pallor, he still managed to look healthier than the stick in the gown stuck in the fucking dumpster. He shook his head at the kid. "How the fuck did you do this?" He asked, without coming any closer. The stench was overwhelming inside, grime crusted up on the walls of the container and garbage underfoot, sticking to Si's old shoes. "Let me boost you out." It could be his good deed for the fucking year.