Another side-effect of Hook’s coerced sobriety has been an insomnia that seems to get worse the longer the heatwave sucks all the moisture out of the city. As Hook lies on his back listening to the slumbering giant rouse he imagines the planet’s a gigantic bowling-ball tumbling down a celestial avenue of stars; pre-PC Cherokees have ripped off his eyelids and he’s strapped to this turning world unwillingly ogling the orange haze on the horizon, praying it’s a bomb but knowing it’s the sun.
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