PAIN

I’ve never hurt so bad, I think.

My head is in a vice, throbbing against needles and broken glass, a blender filled with gravel.

Standing is murder.

It’s hard to walk, spinning against the agony, step by step, trying not to fall over.

Bombs go off at random.

Blinding.

Plucking nerves.

I can’t smile without wincing.

This stabbing invasion, skull-pain, sudden shock—a hand grenade with a loose pin, ratting in my ears.

I’m on the verge of passing out when I ask the waitress for a doctor. She gives directions—I’m gripping my head—I don’t understand a word of it.

Walking now, stumbling.

Fuck.

What happened?