BRYSON’S HOME
Owen pressed hard on the doorbell for a while, expecting a response. When none came, he punched in the code and let himself in. A shocked look was on his face on entering the room. Shattered glasses were on the kitchen floor with a stain of blood on a few of them, and Bryson was nowhere to be found. Worried that something might be wrong, he hurried to the room. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw Bryson curled up on the rug with a dried-up cut on his finger.
Bending over him, he poked Bryson on the side. “Hey, buddy. Come on, wake up. It's past noon.” Owen mused.
Bryson groaned with his eyes shut, “What is it?” he inquired in a croaky voice.
“Stand up, man. How are you not freezing up on that floor?”
“Go away. What do you want?” he whined with his eyes still c
