Chapter Twenty-Three
Swimming to Cambodia—or Somewhere
I was adrift in a mental sea. Emotion welled up. It was maddening that people kept injecting me with exotic substances against my will. It wasn’t a rattler that bit me up at the pinnacle of Will Rogers but a human spider—the one I knew. I can’t say I trusted her completely, but I’d assumed she had my back. Zitts even insisted as much, saying she was there to serve and to serve me. How could I be so mistrustful? In a perverse way, she did have my back—and stabbed it with some needle. And I guess I was too drugged up now to be angry. This time, the drug was something that held me for a long while somewhere between sleeping and waking, with no moorings and no means of navigation. It was far from oblivion, more of an infantile awareness.
