The first time I wake up, it"s nearly noon. Again with the sunlight reflecting off the Hudson River in my eyes. Only now, it"s also ricocheting step by stairstep by stairstep off the fire escape outside my bedroom window and following a path downward toward the sidewalk as morning becomes afternoon. I"m still dressed in jeans and combat boots as I let one booted foot fall with a loud clunk and land sole against the seventies-style parquet apartment floor to steady my mind and, hopefully, stop the bed from spinning.
Instinctively, I search for the wad of cash in my front pocket, and my wallet at my back hip, and the keys to my apartment. I lie in the sweaty sheets and breathe deeply—one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand—counting aloud to ease the jackhammering inside my he
