Balkey bolted out of sleep. His eyes zipped about
the kitchen he’d passed out in. Lighter now than before.
Middle day. The sun was at its angry zenith, no clouds.
Great Town baked. Balkey felt his mouth. He padded
around his gums, teeth, the roof. Dry bones. He threw
the rim of a mug to his lips and the little coffee left blessed
his mouth. Stale but wet. Suppose… Suppose
he had some wine hidden away in a drawer? Balkey bashed
up what was left of the standing cabinetry in that stale, warm kitchen.
Took excitable young Balkey five flat minutes before it came
to him: can’t keep no booze in the bode. He’d finish it
too quick. Coral kept it for a high price and behind a counter,
but she had a lot. Yes, right.