47
The hotel room shrank. Dale’s heart froze. The two dozen sysadmins seemed to swell around him, robbing him of air.
It’s only panic. The air handler is running. That little window’s open and you can feel the breeze on your face. No invisible hand is squeezing your liver. You wouldn’t smell all that nasty chocolate body spray and car exhaust if there wasn’t any air. The floor isn’t tilting, either. Your feet are flat on that ugly knit carpet. The chair is steady. Your lungs still work. That hammering is just your heart. Nobody can hear it but you. Breathe. Just like that counselor told you.
Getting caught as the focus of attention made him realize how bright and brittle everything looked. The wall had a glare that reminded him of a pane of crystalized sugar, like he could push against
