The first thing Tim was aware of was a dull ache in his wrist. Then it was the smell. A salty, putrid smell. It didn't smell anything like his heavily Windexed room at home, and so Tim shut his eyes tighter, hoping to escape this dream for another one soon. But instead of slipping back into unconsciousness, the dream continued to flesh itself out as Tim became aware of a stiffness in his joints and the distinct feeling of a toilet seat under his ass. The ache in his wrist turned into a dull pounding, then into a throbbing pain, strong enough to make Tim force his eyes open.
Tim looked down at his hands and shoes, at first not recognizing them in this new context. Yes, those were his knobby, boney pale hands in his lap and, yes those were his plain black work shoes, slightly worn, planted in the ground. But there were no accounting papers in his hands, no office rug under his feet. Instead, he was in a toilet stall. A curiously red, smelly toilet stall. How funny to fall asleep here. Maybe not a story to share on a first date with someone, but it was more interesting then his normal routine. 
Tim shifted to stand up and some of the red flaked off of the toilet seat. Tim leaned forward, inspecting the paint. It was uneven and spattered about, somewhat like a Pollock painting. Tim scratched at a bit of it on the stall wall, sniffed it. [i]What strange smelling paint,[/i] he thought. 
[i]Not paint,[/i] replied some working part of his brain. The ache at his wrist continued, but suddenly Tim was more concerned about getting home for a shower. That was when he opened the stall door and noticed the body. [i]What an intricate dummy of a corpse stabbed by a pipe,[/i] thought Tim and  [i]not a dummy,[/i] replied the voice in Tim's head.
There was a phone on the corpse, and as Tim slowly stepped out of the bathroom stall, it rang. Twice.  [i]What a familiar sound,[/i] thought Tim, though he wasn't sure why. On the third ring, a text message appeared, "Welcome back. Make this unhappy man beside you happy."
 [i]Welcome back. [/i]Welcome back? Forget whatever the message said. He could figure that out later. Tim stood up, the phone still in his hand and pressed his weight against the bathroom exit.