I tore his throat out, cut his heart out, and opened him up from crotch to breastbone. Maybe I was regretting lost opportunities. It wasn’t a restful night. In the morning I got up and cleaned up the bathroom, where I had made a gory mess patching myself clumsily with the little first-aid kit I keep in the car, after first sneaking into the hotel by a side door. I rolled up the clothes I had been wearing and locked them in my suitcase so they wouldn’t scare the maid when she came in to make the bed. I shaved, put on slacks and a loose wool shirt, and went to breakfast in the dining room, a low, wide-open room with lots of tables, pleasant enough, but without the character of the bar. I ordered eggs, orange juice, toast, and coffee from a girl in Mexican costume. She went away. I leaned back to wait and straightened up again; I should have gone to a drugstore and sat on a backless stool. A shadow fell on the table, and a voice I recognized said, “Good morning, Dr.
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