Laying there, gazing up at the roof, head beating, the previous evening was a faint memory. How could he return home? Is it accurate to say that he was separated from everyone else? Looking to one side and right, the appropriate response was indeed, perhaps. His head was brimming with 'cloth water, bitters, and blue misery'. His teeth felt like he'd been biting aluminum and his breath resembled a consuming farm hauler tire. There was a tweaking tie somewhere close to his liver and East St. Louis and he was unable to be certain whether or not he'd wet himself. A yellow sine wave rang in his ears so uproarious it made his teeth tingle and he was certain that in the event that he contacted his skin anyplace it would instigate a rhythmic heaving jag. In the event that all that wasn't awful enough, he wound up grinning at the acknowledgment that there was as yet one warm, half-vacant, level, Hairy Eyeball on the end table. Indeed - there is a God.