Slowly, carefully, Johnny opened his eyes. It was something he didn’t want to do too quickly. You didn’t rush a thing like that. A man could get hurt, opening his eyes too quickly. He got them open at last, blinked, saw Lieutenant Sam Haig, and did the only thing possible under such conditions. He closed his eyes again. “Wake up, Johnny.” Sadly he opened his eyes again. “Took you long enough,” Haig said. “You know what time it is? Two-thirty in the morning. Why is it I always see you at two-thirty in the morning?” Johnny did not smile. “Cigarette,” he croaked. Haig handed him a cigarette, lit it for him. Johnny’s arm hurt when he moved it. His shoulder ached. And his chest felt as though it were held together by adhesive tape. He touched the chest and found out that indeed it was held together by adhesive tape. How about that? He smoked, ignoring the questions Haig was asking, and his mind began to find the old familiar channels again. He was in a hospital, wasting his time lying in a damn bed.
