I grumbled something, and rolled over, face
to the cool darkness under Linda's bed, back to the warm sunlight.
But I didn't go back to sleep. Instead, I started to get disgusted with myself.
"What the hell are you doing, Ryan?" I demanded, out loud.
"Lying down to die," I told myself, petulantly.
"Like hell," my wiser part said.
"Get off the floor and get to work."
"Don't wanna. Tired. Go away."
"You're not too tired to talk to yourself. So you're not too tired to bail your ass out of the alligators, either. Open your eyes," I told myself, firmly.
I hunched my shoulders, not wanting to obey, but against my better judgment, I did open my eyes.
The sunlight had turned Linda Randall's apartment into an almost cheerful place, overlaid with a patina of gold—empty still, to be sure, but warm with a few good memories.
