ack in my room, I ran a bath. I undressed, then slowly sank in. But strangely, I couldn't get warm. My body was so chilled, sitting in the hot water only made me shiver. I considered staying in the tub until I stopped shivering, but before that happened, the steam made me woozy, so I climbed out. I pressed my forehead against the window to clear my head, then poured myself a brandy which I downed in one gulp before dropping into bed. I wanted to sleep without the taint of a thought in my head, but no such luck. I lay in bed, conscious beyond control. Eventually morning came, heavy, overcast. It wasn't snowing, but clouds filled the sky, thick and seamless, turning the whole town gray. All I saw was gray. A sump of a city slushed with sunken souls.

Thinking wasn't what kept me awake. I hadn't been thinking at all. I was too tired to think. Except that one hardened corner of my head insisted on pushing my psyche into high gear. I was on edge, irritable, as if trying to read station signs from a speeding train. A station approaches. The letters blur past. You can almost read something, but you're traveling too fast. You try again, when the next station careens into view, but you fly by before you can make anything out. And then the next station?Backwater flags in the middle of nowhere. The train sounds its whistle. High, shrill, piercing. This routine went on until nine, when I got out of bed. I shaved, but had to keep telling myself I'm shaving now to get me through. I dressed and brushed my hair and went down to the hotel restaurant. I sat at a table by the window and ordered coffee and toast. It took me an eternity to get through the toast, which tasted like lint and was gray from the sky. The sky foretold the end of the world. I drank my coffee and read and reread and reread the menu. My head was too hard. Nothing would register. The train raced on. The whistle screamed. I felt like a dried lump of toothpaste. All around me, people were devouring their breakfasts, stirring their coffee, buttering their toast, forking up their ham and eggs. Plates and cutlery clink-clink-clinking. A regular train yard.

I thought about the Sheep Man. He existed at this very moment. Somewhere, in a small time-space warp of this hotel. Yes, he was here. And he was trying to tell me something. But it was no good. I couldn't read it. I was speeding by too fast for the message to register. My head was too thick to make out the words. I could only read what wasn't moving: (A) Continental Breakfast — Juice (choice of orange, grapefruit, or tomato), Toast or...

Someone was talking to me. Seeking my response. But who? I looked up. It was the waiter. Immaculate in his white uniform, coffee pot in both hands, like a trophy. "Care for more coffee, sir?" he asked politely. I shook my head. He moved on and I got up to go. Leaving the train yard behind.

Back in my room, I took another bath. No shivers this time. I took a long stretch in the tub, softening my stiff joints. I got my fingers moving freely again. Yes, this was my body all right. Here I am now. Back in a real room, in a real tub. Not aboard some superexpress train. No whistle in my ears. No need to read station signs. No need to think at all.

Out of the bath, I crawled into bed. Ten-thirty. Great, just great. I half considered canning the sleep and going out for a walk, but before I could focus, sleep overtook me. The house-lights went down and suddenly everything went dark. It hap- pened quickly. I can remember the instant I fell asleep. As if a giant, gray gorilla had sneaked into the room and whacked me over the head with a sledgehammer. I was out cold.

My sleep was hard, tight. Too dark to see anything. No background Muzak. No "Moon River" or "Love Is Blue." A simple no-frills sleep. Someone asks me, "What comes after 16?" I answer, "41." The gray gorilla steps in and says, "He's out." That's right, I was asleep. All rolled up in a tight little squirrel ball inside a steel sphere. A solid steel wrecking ball, fast asleep.

Something is calling me.

A steam whistle?

No, something else, the gulls inform me.

Somebody's trying to cut open the steel ball with a blowtorch. That's the sound.

No, not that, chant the gulls. Like a Greek chorus.

It's the phone, I think.

The gulls vanish.

I reach out and grope for the bedside telephone. "Yes?" I hear myself saying. But all I hear is a dial tone. Beeeeeeee eeeeeeee, comes a noise from somewhere else. The doorbell! Somebody's ringing the doorbell! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

"The doorbell," I mumbled.

Gone are the gulls. No one applauds. No "bingo," no nothing.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

I threw on a bathrobe and went to the door. Without asking who it is, I opened up.

My receptionist friend. She slipped inside and shut the door.

The back of my head was numb. Did that ape have to whack me so hard? It feels like there's a dent in my skull.

She noted my bathrobe, and her brows knitted. "Sleeping at three in the afternoon?" she said in disbelief.

"Three in the afternoon?" I repeated. It didn't make much sense even to me. "Why?" I asked myself.

"What time did you get to bed? Really!"

I tried to think. It took real effort. Nothing came. "It's okay, don't bother," she said, shaking her head. Then she plopped down on the sofa, adjusted the frame of her glasses, and looked at me straight in the face. "You look terrible."

"Yeah, I bet I do," I said.

"You're pale and puffed up. Are you okay? Do you have a fever?"

"I'm okay. I just need some sleep. Don't worry. I'm generally pretty healthy. Are you on break?"

"Yes," she said. "I wanted to see you. I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," I said, sitting down on the bed. "I'm zonked, but no, you're not intruding."

"You won't try anything funny?"

"I won't try anything funny."

"Everyone says they won't, but they all do."

"Maybe everyone does, but I don't," I said.

She thought it over and tapped her finger on her temple as if to verify the mental results. "Well, I guess probably not. You're kind of different from other people."

"Anyway, I'm too sleepy right now," I added.

She stood up and peeled off her light blue blazer, draping it over the back of the chair like the day before. This time, though, she didn't sit next to me. She walked over to the window and stood, gazing out at the sky. Maybe she was surprised to find me in such a haggard state, in only a bathrobe — but you can't have everything. I don't make my living looking great all the time.

"Listen," I spoke up. "I didn't tell you, but I think we have a few things in common."

"Oh?" she said without emotion. "For instance?"

"For instance —," I began, but right then my mental transmission stalled. I couldn't think of a thing. I couldn't get words to come. Maybe it was only a feeling. But if it was a feeling between the two of us, however slight, that at least meant something. No for instance or even so. Knowing it was enough. "I don't know," I picked up again. "I need to put my thoughts in order. A method to the madness. First organize, then ascertain."

"Wow, that's really something," she addressed the windowpane. While her voice didn't she entirely cynical, it didn't quite have the ring of enthusiasm either.

I got into bed, leaned back against the headboard, and observed her. That wrinkle-free white blouse. Navy blue tight skirt. Stockinged legs. Yet, even she was tinged gray, like an old photograph. Actually quite wonderful. I felt like I'd connected to something. Next thing I knew I had an erection. Not bad. Gray sky, exhaustion, hard-on at three in the afternoon.

I continued to watch her. Even when she turned around and saw me looking, I kept looking.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" she demanded. "I'm jealous of your swim club," I said. She shook her head, then broke into a smile. "You're a strange guy, you know?"

"Not strange," I said. "Confused. I need to put my thoughts in order."

She drew close and felt my forehead. "Well, no fever," she said. "You should get some sleep. Pleasant dreams."

I wanted her to stay here with me. By my bedside, while I slept. But I knew that was impossible, so I didn't say anything. I watched her put on her light blue blazer and leave. And then the gray gorilla entered the room with his sledgehammer again. "That's okay, I was falling asleep anyway," I started to tell him. But the words weren't out of my mouth before another blow fell.

"What comes after 25?" somebody asks. "71," I answer. "He's out," says the gray gorilla, Surprise, surprise, I thought. Hit me that hard and I'm not going to be in a coma? Darkness overcame me once again.