Chapter TwentyKarl swallowed with a cola the antacids the server had given him then drove home to his apartment around the block from Astria and Patrick. Karl stayed there in bed for the entire holiday, getting up only to sup broth, to vomit and pee, and twice to answer the phone. Once it was Astria calling but he didn't answer. Astria was yesterday. Poppy, or someone like her, was tomorrow.
The fog hovered at Ingrid's door at her home in Inglewood in Calgary, and confronted the group of friends with a massive wall of churning vapor. From the vapor, a voice boomed. Fergie, her golden retriever, growled and the hair on its back bristled. Ingrid put a hand on the dog's collar to stop it from lunging forward.
“Ahoy, mates,” the voice said. “Remember me, you wench?”
“I remember you,” Ingrid
