"You with the white hair and the sherlock holmes getup, you good? hangover? Here, better take this"

Fons flinched. His vision was blurry, the world looking more and more like a fishbowl to him. Rain poured down around him, an orange umbrella held over him by an outstretched arm. A figure stood before him. As for his question...

"Hangover? W-w-who are you?"

The figure stared at him for a second, looking him up and down.

"Name's Silas. Damn dude, looks like you're in a fix..."

"....Hangover?"

The figure- Silas, sighed. Doing a tired cuckoo sign, he put a hand on Fons' shoulder.

"Look dude, can you tell me your address or something? I could give you a lift.". He motioned at Fons' coat, by then smudged over with rain.

"Address?"

Another sigh. "Today? Really?", Silas muttered to himself.

"Come with me", he said, striding off into the distance

"..."

"You just going to sit there? Come on!"

And Fons stood up. Much to his surprise, walking felt normal. Natural.

"Stop staring around, I'll drag you if you dilly-dally any longer. My apartment shouldn't be too far away."

Silas cut through the rain sleekly. His slinking steps glided. One, two, one, two- his steps were rhythmic, boots splashing on every puddle on the ground. After what seemed like a minute, or maybe ten, they reached big building. It had swooping boards and flying metal carriages.

"You got a card for the Trider?"

Another foreign word. Fons motioned his mouth, almost forming the beginnings of a "w" before Silas shook his head and waved it off.

"Forget it"

They kept walking. They approached a row of turnstiles, where Silas waved for a ticket lady's attention. He pointed to Fons, raising his eyebrows and giving her a knowing look. She motioned for him and Fons to go to the counter.

"Another one?"

"Yeah, he's pretty badly hungover. That, or he hit his head too hard." Another cuckoo motion. "I think I'll check him up. Can't trust him not to walk off the edge of the platform...". The lady exhaled loudly, producing two tickets from the counter and punching them with a chick.

"Platform 701 I'm assuming. Two stops"

"You got it"

This "Trider" whistled along the landscape, sun peeking out form behind a stormy cloud, rays seeping through its mist. Fons' overcoat slowly drying, the grates wheezed out gusty warm air.

*Ahnlo-Poma. Passengers on the outer platform, please wait for commuters on the Trider to exit before boarding*

Silas stopped him before Fons could even think of stepping that foot out the sliding doors.

"Next one's us"

Sitting back down, Fons took a glance at Silas up and down. The man wore a green turtleneck, his black eyes punctuating a scruffy beard. He wore a tired expression, his faces lined with dissolving black grime. And on his left cheek, an imprinted red sore. Maybe he glanced a bit too close.

"Woah woah there now, give me some space. Ask all you like when we get to my place. See, it's already our stop."

*Dolisto. Passengers on the outer platform, please wait for commuters on the Trider to exit before boarding*

Fons swallowed his thoughts as they disembarked, Silas feeding the tickets to a machine and making headway towards a counter

"We're home", he announced.

"You live here? Near all the tr-tri-"

"Triders. Yeah, that's right. Over here."

Tapping in a few digits, Silas unlocked the the door. They walked into a cramped one-bedroom apartment with barely enough room for a bookshelf and an oculus window.

"Close the door behind you. Thank you."

Silas sat in a large grey cushioned armchair. His legs crossed over one another. Finally releasing, he asked:

"I have two questions. Firstly: What was your name again? And secondly: What are you doing?"

"I believe my name is Fons."

"And the second question?"

...