HE WOKE FINALLY， fed up with the half wakings， the dreary<br >moments of confusion between sleep and wakefulness， and<br >gingerly felt around to make sure he hadn t embarrassed<br >himself in the night as he had once before， though he was<br >sure the fault lay with the drugs they were giving him and<br >not his own waterworks， his very healthy prostate for a man<br >his age， or so Doc Bennet had said， with his finger up his<br >arsehole.<br > So， the curtains were still drawn around old Mac. Not<br >good sign， not good at all.<br > His clock radio said seven-ten. There was water running<br >somewhere and wheels creaking and voices in the corridor<br >outside their room. It would be nice to lie in bed awhile， but<br >Jesus that running water made you want to piss.<br > He pulled himself up and shifted his thinning legs over<br >the edge， felt around with his toes for slippers， found them，<br >and eased himself off the bed. He was smart enough to hold<br >steady for a minute and let his heart pump a meager sup-<br >ply of oxygen to his dwindling brain cells， before taxing it<br >with any other effort. Then he made a quick dash for the<br >washroom， at least pretty qu~k for a man of seventy-six.<br > He took time to contemplate his bristle in the mirror，<br >pick at a sore spot on his nose， and the single thick black<br >hair that persisted in growing from it， and then decided to<br >hell with it， he d let his beard grow even if the nurses didn t<br >like it， before tiptoeing back to take a peek at Mac behind<br >the drawn curtains.<br > <br ><br >
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