“IT WAS AFTER NOON BEFORE SAM made it back to his dorm room. As soon as he was inside, he stumbled across the room and collapsed on his bed. The Real Dream Either the bartender was wrong or Sam didn't have the typical reaction to vodka. If there were hangovers worse than the one he was feeling, Sam didn't want to know about it. Already he felt like someone had lifted the top of his skull, poured in a box of thumbtacks, and put the lid back on. Add in the family of gerbils that had taken up resid...ence in his stomach, and Sam was ready to call the Mafia and see if he could hire a killer to come and shoot him. Sam crawled up the bed until his face was smashed against the pillow and tried to keep his head from exploding. The drums down the hall were silent this time, but they weren't needed. Sam's heart was beating all on its own. On some scale, he knew that the hangover was getting better. The idea that he might actually live through it now seemed like a possibility--not that death wasn't still an attractive option.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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