beginning of a story

It was a hazy morning, and the air smelled like sulfur, as the lingering house fire a few houses down started to die down. Mark walked outside of his front door and was happy that his house didn’t catch fire, but he was too tired from working at the paper mill to give a shit about the fire, as he fell directly to sleep when he got home last night at nine.
Mark was a middle aged man of forty five, and knew that he did not have too much longer to live, since he had untreated hepatitis C, which there was now a cure for, but he couldn’t afford health insurance, not with his bad crack habit, which was now exclusively on the weekends, yet he still blew his whole paycheck on chasing the dragon, never getting to the point where he wanted to be, but it seemed to be his fate.