It's never fun waking up, not knowing why you're in so much agony. Rising from a death-like period of unconsciousness, with dried blood and other fluids caked in your hair and smeared across your unshaven face. Whatever is in your mouth is sour and feels as putrid as it tastes. You don't know if it's from the booze, the puke or the blood that your clothes are also covered in.
The experience wasn't new to the young man, known only as Chito to the other miscreants at Natchez Under-The-Hill. He'd started showing up a couple times a year around 1790. He always came with plenty of money, a fresh outfit of clothes, new boots, and an almost too friendly demeanor.
Like many others who frequented the whorehouses, gambling halls and bars on the shores of the Mississippi, Chito came to escape whatever reality he lived. He came to Natchez to drink, gamble, fuck and fight; nothing more! When he left, days or possibly weeks later, the clothes, money and charm he arrived with had been spent.
This day, he knew it was time to go back to where he came from… if only he knew where that was. It seemed wherever Chito went he didn't quite fit in. He had never really remembered belonging somewhere specific and for the last five or six years had just gone where he felt like going. He had no agenda or purpose as far as anyone who ever met him could tell.
This isn't a hook, it's the backstory for an actor preparing for a role. There are examples of hooks in the 167 posts that precede this. Go read them. Then read them again.