Chapter 66: One helluva hangover

The head and gut aches he woke with at Sunday noon had him wishing he had never been born and he lay on his sweat-sodden bed for a long time. Pulling himself together was a drawn-out affair. When he thought movement could be achieved without catastrophe he flopped on to his back, hated what it did to his vision and stomach and sought the comparative comfort of burying his head in the pillow. When all had quietened he tried again, gripping the edge of the bed and pulling himself towards it. The floor attained he crawled to the bathroom and disgraced himself abominably. It worried him that he couldn't remember what he was supposed to not be worrying about.