Chapter 10
I was tired and severely travel-fatigued by the time my flight landed in Pretoria and cranky because I’d run out of cigarettes just after we left London—how had that happened? I never let myself run short. And not only had I run out, but apparently the airline had as well, because by the time the stewardesses got to me, nothing was left.
You smoke too much.
I do not. Oh God, I was arguing with myself. That was when it occurred to me: that nagging itch in my brain was responsible. It had gotten worse the farther away from home we’d flown.
So I had no cigarettes, and multiple bottles of alcohol were no help—it was as if I had a hollow leg. And I couldn’t even escape it in sleep, because while I couldn’t remember those damned dreams, I knew I dreamed.
The man seated beside me
