26
The insanely plush and broad hotel bed did nothing to silence the wheels spinning in Dale’s brain. He tried to read, but Agatha Christie didn’t seem appropriate and the new ZZ Claybourne novel moved way too quick. Instead, he watched a couple episodes of original Star Trek on his tablet. Just after midnight, with his mind still chewing over the day, he let a couple of little pink diphenhydramine pills suck him down into thick black unconsciousness.
His buzzing and howling phone resurrected him at the ungodly hour of eight AM. His smogged brain almost kept him from staggering into the bathroom, or finding his electric razor once he made it. Yanking his underwear on backwards provided a surge of wakefulness, but by the time he pulled a fresh company T-shirt over his head he had to admit
