When Harpo woke up some time later, he wasn’t sure where he was, but he wasn’t worried either. This wasn’t an unusual state. Sleeping was his favourite pastime. He often drifted off during the day, and always in the strangest places. He looked around, saw the owner of the lodge sitting across from him. Sam. Harpo remembered him from behind the desk when he’d checked in. Sam, the husband of the woman that he’d been chasing for days.
Harpo realized that his arm was still under the cushion, under his bottom. He must have left it in there and fallen asleep. Now he couldn’t feel it at all. He couldn’t move it either. He yanked it out with his other hand, and it weighed more than a house, and you couldn’t get gangrene from this, Minnie had told him once, or else all the restless sleepers in New
