Morning classes were uneventful, and we gathered for a quick lunch before heading off to our afternoon sessions. Tarmant was still sniffing both of us...when we met after being separated, but there was much less urgency about it; I sensed it was now as much about pleasure as about need.I was the last one home to the flat after classes, and a found a very sorrowful-looking Tarmant curled up on the couch when I walked in."I told him, lord," she said sadly. "He's in the bedroom; he wanted to be. He milked the feeding tube forsome water and gruel, and felt the now-familiar relaxing feeling washover him as he laid down on the bed and pulled his blanked overhimself.Sleep mixed with voices. Odd lights, and a floating feeling. Pain, thennumbness."Huh?" Jack awoke, in sheets. He looked down at the bed, and thenaround the room, confused. The room was the same, but it obviously hada makeover. He his bed actually felt like a mattress, with soft pinkcotton sheets. He had a fluffy pink pillow.. The North Vietnamese didn't have any stretchers, and I don't think they felt much like carrying me if they did. So I was looking up from the ground as the officer in charge of the unit cocked his automatic, aimed it at my head and started to squeeze the trigger."Suddenly, his whole hand, and the gun in it, disappeared; he just stared stupidly at a stump, now gushing blood. A moment later, a hole appeared in his forehead right between his eyes. An instant later, I hear the sounds of the shots.. For me! Fucking reektards!Now I’m the fucking Proctologist! And it sucks. I mean, I guess it’s better than Peter Gazer Prince. That closet runner would turn America into an episode of the “Handmate’s Tale.”Just come out already, quit the charade, Mickey! We all know you take it in the keister! If he resigns, he and Alfred P. Newman and Dustin from Canada can all hook up for a ménage-a-trois... This job sucks. It’s the worst job ever. I fucking hate it. I thought at least I could have.