John went to the kitchen and poured himself the dregs of last night's pot. A quick pop into the microwave and John was completely unsurprised to find it disgusting.

He drank it anyway.

He could hear the shower running and thought he'd have at least enough time for a cigarette. He slipped on his coat and went to the porch. He was fishing for his pack when the door clicked closed behind him. John froze. Turned. Tried the knob.

And banged his head once on the door.

"Fuck my life," he sighed. Then lit up since he was stuck.