7
David woke with a pounding in his head and cotton in his mouth. He looked over at the nightstand. A bottle of Scotch lay on its side. Some of its contents were spilled on the floor, but only a little. Apparently he had managed to spill most of it down his throat before passing out. The clock said 9:00 a.m., but it felt much earlier. He rolled over, hoping to catch the last tendrils of sleep.
Sunlight streamed in the window, turning the backs of his eyelids bright red. It was no use. As much as it pained him and sickened his stomach, he could not get back to sleep. He sat up gently and almost lay right back down when the pounding in his head became worse. It caused him to gasp and groan. He stood up slowly from the bed, testing his legs to make sure they were seaworthy.
In c
