He threw the bags of clothes on the futon and went into the bathroom. After tossing back three aspirin, then upping it to four because he knew that pretty soon he’d be hurting worse than he already was, he got out of the torn and dirty clothes, and carefully washed his various scrapes and cuts before slathering them with enough antibiotic cream to pretty much guarantee they wouldn’t get infected. Then, he put on sweatpants and a T-shirt and collapsed on the futon.
He had barely done so when someone knocked hard on the apartment door. With a sigh, he went to open it. The second he did, Jules came in, slamming the door behind him before Eddie had a chance to close it.
“What the hell happened?” Jules asked angrily.
“Some drunk decided the stop sign didn’t apply to him and winged my bike.”
