One of Shiloh's favorite things about his commute to the clinic, was the street performers. They were all so unique and fun- all of them not given nearly as much recognition as they should as artists. He always made a point to carry some spare change for them. He wasn't exactly living a luxurious life, but he knew enough and saw enough to know that having a warm home to got to and three square meals a day already counted him in as one of the lucky ones.

To his delight, his favorite pair of performers were out today. With hurried steps, he approached them, a two dollars firmly clenched between his fingers in his pocket and quickly dropped the money into their can. He stepped back and took a moment to absorb the performance. Shiloh thought he recognized the monologue from somewhere, but it was the boy's movements that and the music that accompanied he found to be the most spell-binding. He had only meant to stay for a little while, but they had finished and ten minutes had gone by with him standing and watching.

Shiloh swallowed thickly and debated on paying them a compliment before he kept going, but he hesitated. And hesitated some more, quietly fidgeting as he watched them pack up their things. No, he wasn't going to waste their time. He averted his gaze and kept walking, happy to at least have given them some money. 

A few blocks down, he stopped when he spotted someone leaned up against the wall of an alleyway, getting violently ill over a pile of trash. His medical instincts took over.

"Are you okay?" He asked and began to approach the boy. Oh, God. He [i]was[/i] a boy. Couldn't have been a few years younger than him.

"I'm fine," Aleksey groaned and spat the bile from his mouth. His temples throbbed and his throat burned, but it was nothing he hadn't experienced before.

The quiet, effeminate voice of the stranger pressed on. "Are you sure? I can take you to-"

"Said I'm [i]fine,[/i]" Alex insisted, batting a hand at the man without looking at him. Shiloh flinched away, but was still skeptical, to say the least. He fished his wallet out of his pocket and plucked a business card from a slot.

"If you change your mind..." He gingerly reached over and slipped the card into the boy's jacket pocket, then beat a hasty retreat. He had a shift to do that the clinic. Probably shadowing again. 

It didn't matter to him. Alex was never going to drink again after today. For real this time. It wasn't worth all of this bullshit.

The Russian spat once more and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before straightening up. What he needed now was a hot shower and a couple of glasses of water. And his apartment was in the building right next to him, too. No problem. Except that when he got upstairs, all this shower gave him was icy cold water. Then with clumsy fingers, he broke his last glass. Mad at life, he went next door to Kimbal and Kaya's only to find that they weren't in either. He resorted to drinking straight from the faucet, which wasn't so bad. He still needed some new cups, but- surprise, surprise. He had no money. None that he could spend, anyway. 

Aleksey was pretty good at saving money for rent at the sacrifice of food and clean clothes, but being homeless was worse than starving in his mind. And at least he wasn't completely out of means to make money. Grabbing his guitar and notepad, he set out for the Light Cafe.

He walked swiftly there to get in and out of the cold as soon as possible, not just for himself. His acoustic, Iskra, could get very temperamental in cold weather. The less she was out, the better for both of them. When he stepped into the cafe, he nodded a greeting to Jimmy who in turn gave him a wary nod in return. Alex was more of a night-owl, and a rowdy one at that. Like sunlight was his supernatural weakness. But upon seeing his neighbors, he brightened with a smile and approached the table Kimbal was seated at.

"Hey, Kimbal," He greeted and invited himself to sit across the booth from the man. Alex's voice was hoarse, but it was always a little rough from smoking and singing as much as he did. He adjusted his guitar in the seat beside him. "How are you?" His accent rang clearly through his words, but did little to distort his speech.