Nights sucked. In fact,
Davey came to loathe the very likelihood of hotel bunking – with
its vagaries too numerous to mention.
When sleep eventually arrived, grotesque dreams followed suit, tumbling through his fog in a hodgepodge, and were clustered in that thin slice of grogginess just before pitchin' off the sheets.
In one such dream, a bad case of athlete's foot threatened Davey H's relative homeostasis, festering as he fussed with it.
Next in the dream-drama came a movie-like horror featuring a group of horseback-mounted Arab men clad in white tunics, sporting rifles and looking for something to shoot at.