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The pub to your left has a heavy wooden back door covered in chipped red paint over a coat of even older varnish. A sturdy-looking lever-handle with a keyhold at its center holds it shut. The windows in this building, also brick and three stories high, are all boarded tightly shut. Faint snoring emanates from somewhere on the upper floors. Checking the handle to see if it's locked would likely make some amount of noise. You cannot see inside. You are hungry. You are cold. You are in pain. You want a cigarette.