A Wolverine Is Eating My Leg (2011) - Plot & Excerpts
It was early one Monday morning. The day before I had attended a wedding where I was forced, very nearly against my will, to drink massive quantities of champagne for hours on end without surcease. I woke up that Monday in my own bed, but I was still wearing the rental tux, and the overhead light burned like an ugly accusation. My tongue was made of sandpaper. I felt diseased. That very day I had an appointment to go lie in ten feet of water, at the bottom of the pool in the scuba school. I would be down there for about an hour. The exercise was designed to help a student become familiar with the sensation of being underwater for long periods of time and to help him learn proper use of the scuba gear. I pulled on the wet suit and put on a fifteen-pound weight belt, which weighed somewhere in excess of two hundred pounds, then fell into the pool, the tank on my back, the regulator in my mouth. At ten feet I took the regulator out of my mouth and blew a little of the pressurized air I had been breathing into the vestlike piece of equipment known as a buoyancy compensator, or BC.
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