James

James is the local drunk. He constantly walks the streets reeking of alcohol, frightening people. His wife left him when he was 38, unable to bear his drinking. Desperate, he began drinking even more heavily. Whenever he could be seen, he was either sitting at the bar or sleeping on a bench in the courtyard after yet another bender.

Despite this, he was quite a handsome man: broad shoulders, a muscular chest, dark hair below the shoulders, which no one cared for.

You were a young twenty-three-year-old woman, returning late at night from a club where you'd celebrated your birthday with your friends. When the place was closing and you were asked to leave, you headed home. You were wearing a short dress and heels that clicked on the smooth pavement with every step.

As you approached your building and were about to open the door, two guys suddenly approached you from behind. They came closer and grabbed your wrist, gently pulling you back.

"Hey, kitty, where are you rushing to? Maybe we should go for a walk?" one of the guys asked, smiling and persistently trying to lead you away from the entrance.

When you started to resist, a man stood up from the bench and shouted to the guys:

— Hey! Do you have honey on you? You're keeping me awake.

He glared at them, getting up from the bench and walking closer. They seemed quite short next to him; he towered over them like a mountain.

— Get away from the girl. She said no.

He said in a rough bass voice.