Wee. More of this one:

03: IN THE COLD; PROLOGUE

    He woke up reluctantly, struggling against it.  Every time
he came close to becoming conscious, he rolled over and tried
again, tried to recapture oblivion.

I know this feeling. Every... single... morning.

Finally, however, the unending

'Finally, however' feels like a bad way to start the sentence.

pressure on his bladder forced him awake.  Grumbling
incoherently, he slipped off his bare bed and padded to the
bathroom, his eyes still stubbornly closed.
    After flushing the toilet,

A useless gesture since, with his eyes closed, he had taken a leak in the
sink.

 he sidestepped over to the sink and

splashed his face with cold water, waking up with a shock.  He
quickly twisted the hot water knob and waited for it to warm up as
he brushed his teeth.  When it was hot enough, he spat, rinsed, and
began to shave.

Bit dry at the start of the sentence. It doesn't do much for me.

He tried not to look at himself as he did it.  He had

been surprised that he could still feel such guilt.  He tried not to see
his tired eyes inside his thin face; the narrow cheeks and long nose
framed by unkempt dirty blonde hair.  He nicked himself twice as
he shaved, once just next to his Adam's apple and once on his chin.
He washed away the soap and cleaned off the long razor he had
shaved with

'used' instead of 'shaved with'

  head.  Their only virtue was in being true, and that was little virtue

under the circumstances.  The lighting had been really bad in the
sex club and she hadn't sounded underage and I was a bit drunk,
too, and we only had sex the once

drop 'the'

 after I found out, and yes,

officer, I think you're absolutely right to beat me up with that
metal pipe, I'd do much the same if I were in your position.

Heh

    He took two large bowls, spoons and glasses on the dining
room table before returning to the kitchen for the cartons of milk
and orange juice and the cereal.  He noticed on the counter a basket
of fruit, apples, bananas and oranges, and decided to take that as
well.  When he came out of the kitchen he saw that she was
already sitting at the table.  He stopped, unsure what to say or do
and would have stayed stopped if the kitchen door hadn't hit it.  He
coughed, once, and went to the table.
    "I'm sorry," he said.  "I only have Whole Wheat Quincy-
Os for cereal."

Nice touch.

immediately drained the glass and pushed it towards him as she
took her first large scoop of cereal.  He wordlessly filled her glass
again and began to eat, all the while watching her.  She ate her
cereal slowly, chewing carefully, but for all the grace she had hew

'he'

was struck by how young she looked, how innocent and pure.

Not no more she's not, you dirty old man.

    "Oh?" she said, her face and voice unnervingly calm.
"Statutory, perhaps."

Heh

    "No, thank you."  She walked to the front door and opened
it but turned before she crossed the threshold.  She stood on her
tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, a short peck.  "I like you very
much.  I hope I can see you again, Fargo."
    Then she was gone, leaving him gaping after her.  She had
called her

called him

 Fargo, and he was damned sure that he had never told

her that name, his trade name, his most intimate alias and he never
gave it out except for intimates.  And despite what happened last
night, she was definitely not one of those intimates.  And he could
never have been drunk enough to give it out to a girl he'd only met.
So how had she known?
    He stood just before the threshold, shivering in the morning
cold.

You're !#$% man. :)

Nice short. More like a scene, and a neat way to start out a prologue.

Thanks for writing.

DB Sommer

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