Joe roused slowly, coming to consciousness slowly like the raising of the catch of the day from the deep.  He felt terrible, his head and insides were pounding.  He struggled to remember where he was.  Bars on the high window, white tiles, a spartan tiled room with a heavy metal door. 

This looked like a jail, but.. oh.. no..

fragments of the past came back to him.  Meekford and Bell... the largest bottle of liquid self-pity he could afford.. the tiny dark nook where he had hidden and drank himself into oblivion to forget Carrington, to forget the shame, to forget Pearl.  Even she wouldn't want to know a man who couldn't support her.  Joe hung his head in his hands, as he became more aware of his misfortune.  Should have kept his bloody mouth shut and let her be.  

There was the jangling of keys and the metallic scraping of the heavy bolt.  The door opened to reveal the old policeman.