A Floor is A Floor [Open]

ADAM it's not a cry for help, it's just a cry for connection. Adam blearily opened his eyes as he was poked, tilting his head up with enough dramatised effort to make it clear he really didn't want to. The wobbling image of two men finally worked it's way into one before him, and he rubbed at his face. Finally the question he'd heard actually made sense, having gotten through the slow cogs of his brain. "...No. Well...actually, kinda." He answered, then pulled a face at the taste in his mouth. Still, he had always been a rambler when drunk (or, really, any time) so he forced himself up on one elbow and looked Are up and down. "We're all dead, I think. Doesn't this feel like hell to you, mate? Or some kinda purgatory.  I know if it was heaven there wouldn't be a fucking library." He flopped back down and glared at the shelves above him, the books taunting him with their words and secrets. "...If you're tryina get me to leave, gimme five minutes." i'd trade my life and health, to make people pay attention. I'd sacrifice myself for the sake of entertainment.