13 August 1916, Sunday
Where the hell did he sleep over and he could hear Florian’s band that loud? It was as if they were playing inside his skull. He opened his eyes in the darkness. He was not in Venice. He was in Salonica. On the bed of Hotel di Roma with a terrible headache. He put out his hand and groped in the dark for the switch of the bedtable light. He threw it on the floor. He cussed silently and sat up heavy at the edge of the bed. His foot kicked something that rattled on the terracotta floor tiles. It was as if he had been hit on the forehead with ten hammers. He realized he was stark naked in his birthday suit. And what was that salad in his groin? Onion skins. They absorbed alcohol from the organism. Someone was taking care of him while he was knocked out from the booze. W
