Tick, tock, tick, tock, you're gonna be late, if you don't check the clock.
    A 'hfff' of breath being intook sounds out into the darkness as hands curl tightly around the edge of a ratty blanket, the man turning his head for a moment with a wonder as to why there was so little light. Then a grin began to break out across his face as the answer reveals itself to him with eyelids snapping  open to look upon the broken lamp on the nightstand, a lamp who's bulb had not worked in near twenty nine years. Instead, blinding light drifted in through a set of uncovered balcony windows with curtains pulled aside, brightening the dusty room.
    The end of the dream came back to the man swiftly as he was in his regular admiring of the beauty of the morning, throwing the blanket from himself before jolting up and twisting his body to shove his legs off the floor and plant his feet on the ground. With a single push against his stained escape to a stress free world the young adult shoves himself to his feet, these marvels of human-kind carrying him with a brisk pace to a large, cracked mirror that stood leaning against the wall near the bedroom's door.
    He turns to it with the grin still on his face, eyes running over the yellowed teeth before his tongue moves across them, the male bringing his hand to his mouth and blowing against it before giving it a sniff, brow quirking up at the scent. "Oh, Cassidy... How DISmal the times have become!" His inflection was an odd one, emphasis regularly being placed on words without real cause, the man, Cassidy, running a hand through his hair with a quick lean close to the mirror, looking for any nasty bugs that might have once more taken up residence in the scraggly washed out brown mess. Even his fingers were capable of catching hold of many knots and tearing them loose.
    Not seeing anything out of the usual he leans back, eyes now taking their time to run down his body in the mirror to check for any lesions, pustules, bites or other that could now reign a spot on his lanky, nearing almost anorexic pale frame. They start at the protruding collar bone and slowly make their way down the almost bony rib cage followed by a stomach that could certainly do with another serving or two at every meal. The eyes stop on the holed pair of boxers he had on, brow quirking as he lets out a slight chortle. "Definitely going to need more of those," he says to himself, but alone in the empty room in which he stood, eyes soon moving onward until they reach a pair of unkempt, callous feet. Feet that never got rest from their owner's nonstop marching and wandering and rushing and jumping.
    But Cassidy found nothing out of the ordinary with himself, hand pulling free from the scraggly hair adorning his head as his eyes shoot back to his facial features, glancing over the chin that came to a narrow rounding beneath a mouth too small for the boisterous nature of the man who had it, running up cheeks sunken with hunger before centering on the narrow nose who's bridge they run up before taking hold of the hazel eyes with a weariness from stress bringing them a bag or two below. 'That won't do,' the six foot two figure thinks before bringing his hands up to deftly drag the marked and scratched palms across the bags multiple times before pulling away from the narrow face, he glancing at the bags which have been barely dealt with by the action with a grin shooting across his face in gleefulness. "Much, MUCH, better!"
    The hands fall from their raised position as the man turns from the mirror and makes long exuberant strides to the worn-down, unhinged wardrobe, hands raising to grab the edges of one door and simply pulling it away before gingerly setting it down against the wall beside the piece of furniture. This action is followed by the man, somewhere between his thirties and forties, grabbing a variation of the clothing he wore every day since he took it upon himself to be the self-appointed mayor of Cassidy Halls: A tattered white button up long sleeved shirt (thought white was the color it had started as, many stains now marking the piece of clothing a brownish blood stained mix), a suit jacket torn in multiple places, a ragged tie and a pair of poorly kept suit pants, all wrinkled and unwashed (or at least poorly washed). Most the garments had started out black in color, though because of use and the passage of time they were now rendered a dull deep gray.
	With these draped over one arm Cassidy turns his back to the wardrobe and makes his way back to his bed with a soft, cheerful humming of some tune playing out in off-beat tones vibrating out his throat. After gingerly setting the clothes down on the ragged sheets of the bed the hungry looking male takes his seat next to them as he always does, beginning with the button up shirt. The outfit of worn fabric slips over his frame with ease, the few missing buttons of no issue to this particular individual as he continues to hum.
	Next came the suit's jacket, the buttons of this one being discarded from Cassidy's attention after the article's sleeves are pulled over his arms, followed by the tie being grabbed by it's length and swung against the adult's neck to allow the force of motion to wrap it partially around the neck. Now, over, then und... Under, over... Right and through... He goes over several steps in his head as two foolish hands awkwardly fiddle with the tie before he gives up for the thousandth time, tying an offhand knot and letting the two ends of fabric hang from his neck as always.
	The pants were easy, slip on and zip, the man hopping off the bed and onto his naked feet onto the cool floor once more, striding past his mirror with a glance in its direction to let out a wolfish whistle at the dashingly dressed figure that passes by it. With no qualms towards himself, as he rarely ever has any, the six foot tall person making his way into the bathroom and taking a deep breath of the morning air. Given power was a mighty luxury of these times, there was no lightbulb to lighten the room from it's pre-dark nature, instead a hole having been punched through the wall to the outside, a pleased sigh escaping Cassidy as he moves to stand before the sink.
	He balls most his right hand into a fist, leaving his index sticking straight to drag it heavily through a pile of baking soda someone has taken the liberty to leave upended onto the counter next to the box that once held it. The finger picks up a thick coat of the white powder before it's owner raises it up with a wide gaping of his mouth, dipping the finger in to grind the powder against his teeth. Like any normal man would, Cassidy starts with the back of his left side molars at the roof of his mouth, slowly working his finger back and forth across their backs before moving to their bottoms, then the fronts, before withdrawing his finger to drag it once more through the powder substitute for toothpaste.