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Immortal Dreams Published Novel Part 7 of 10

Updated on September 10, 2013

Chapter 14

‘If you have a dream, then follow it with all the desire you can muster. This can make life truly worthwhile.’

We travelled through the day and into the night to get to North Carolina, in the motor home that now had a familiar and cosy feel to it. At dawn the next morning we went to Pinehurst No.2 for a practice round. I wanted to be as comfortable with the course as possible, wanting a crystal clear idea of how I wanted to play the course. By doing this about four weeks before the US Open my intention was to enable myself to focus all the mental imagery I did in build up to the event precisely on playing that course. The reason for playing at dawn was for there to be nobody else around and so when Sunny and I were having a good look round and taking our time we wouldn’t be getting in anybody’s way. Ordinarily when playing on my own, even if I took my time, I’d still get round in three hours. This particular practice round took five hours. Between the two of us we took extensive notes on the course. For each hole I wanted to know the following things; for all none par threes I wanted to know which part of the fairway was the ideal spot for each different hole location, also whether there was any side of the fairway that was a particularly bad place to be compared to the other side and would therefore be marked out as a definite non-starter, I wanted to know what the ideal distance to be hitting off each tee, on all holes I wanted to work out which areas of the green would be easiest to hit to and from that I could make better decisions about which flags to try and hit straight at and when to play for a safer area of the green, I wanted to see if there were any areas around a green that would be virtually impossible to get the ball down the hole in a further two shots and therefore would be marked down as no go areas, also wanted to learn as much as I could about the slopes of the green (which was where Sunny came in particularly useful), I wouldn’t learn a great deal about the speed of the greens, as I could be sure that the USGA would have the greens cut and running a lot faster by the time the tournament came around, I wanted to get used to the sand and I wanted to get an extensive amount of yardages from and to as many spots as I could think would be useful. Of course all of this didn’t mean there was any guarantee I’d perform well, but I wanted to put all my efforts into it and leave no stone unturned. My belief was that if I was as happy as I could be with my preparations then I would go into the event pleased with myself, helping me to relax and play with the peace of mind that I deserve to play well. This may seem like a lot of effort to manipulate a small white ball around a big green field in as few a number of strokes as possible; but it is the one thing in my life that matters to me, so I’m happy to save as much of my mental efforts as possible for that manipulation of the white sphere.

From the extensive notes we took that day we compiled a notebook, with all the relevant points for each hole written down in concise, easy to read form. So now I had a record for each hole and how I wanted to play it in all types of wind directions and strengths, and how I definitely didn’t want to play it. Every day after that practice round I read that book as if I was revising for an exam, to the extent of on occasion’s Sunny taking the book and testing me on its contents. This was the first exam I ever had a deep desire to pass.

Even the most committed sports psychologist will acknowledge that there is no way to measure the success of positive thinking. What does convince me of the use of sports psychology is the power of negative thinking and it’s phenomenally high success rate. I can’t believe there’s a group of the populous that are a better example of the power of negative thinking than the amateur, club golfers. Negativity oozes out of these people and what’s more they actually seem to revel in it and don’t even attempt to hide it, as they share their thoughts with their playing companions. From an outsider’s point of view they seem to become involved in a battle to see who can put themselves down the most. Even after a successful shot they will often pass it off with a comment like “there’s the one good putt of the day”. They go out of their way to tell you about the times they have played a certain hole badly and how they never play well in a competition.

Going straight into the sectional stage meant that I had two rounds of golf to get back to the US Open. Played on the Monday the week before the US Open itself, the course I entered at was near to Pinehurst No.2. Whilst not in the same league as the Championship Venue itself, the course was still fantastic. The field was the usual mix of main tour professionals, some household names, some veterans in a midst of a slump, some young rookie professionals, amateur college stars who would soon be professionals and gifted amateurs who never really had any thoughts of joining the paid ranks. Of all the sectional venues it wasn’t the best quality of players but it certainly wasn’t the worst. The seven spots up for grabs would have to be earned. It is always difficult to guess what sort of score will be required to qualify. My first round was a well controlled performance that always looked like resulting in something like the two under par 70 that it produced. At the start of the day I was thinking that 140 for two rounds would be good enough to qualify. However after looking at all the scores from the first round it was clear I’d need something better the next round in order to qualify.

All that planning for the US Open and none of it had revolved around the qualifying venue. Not much point being an expert on Pinehurst No.2 if I didn’t even get to play there. Had I tried to run before I could walk?

It wasn’t as hot as the same stage last year, but I still didn’t feel like eating much in between rounds. Found time for a cold beverage, a shower and a little chipping and putting practice. I headed back to the first focussed on beating my morning score.

I never had a state of serene calmness and composure that day. Instead it was a massive conscious effort to focus correctly on every shot, and get the most I could out of the round. Fortunately getting off to a good start stopped me from getting too tight and pushing too hard. Three under par at the half way stage of the round put me in a good position, two birdies on thirteen and fifteen put me in a very good position. One lapse of concentration on a five iron shot from the middle of the seventeenth fairway lead to a bogey at just the wrong time. Playing the eighteenth straight after that bogey was tough. Just missed the fairway then just missed the green, didn’t quite get the chip right, all adding up to a tricky five-footer downhill for a par. Had a feeling that if I missed I wouldn’t qualify, but being one of the earliest starters in the day it was difficult to be sure. So I definitely didn’t want to hit the putt too hard and risk it going six feet or so past the hole and a possible extremely expensive three putt. A delicate roll of the ball sent it towards the hole, it tried to escape to the right at the last minute but the hole came just in time and the ball fell in for a hard working par. Felt completely drained after that round, the massive mental effort had taken its toll. Now I had a wait of some three hours to find out whether I would be playing in the final stages of the US Open.

Had a meal in the bar with Sunny as soon as I’d sorted out the score card, trying to relax and de-stress, the word futile was invented for situations like that. Wendell was playing in Ohio in another qualifier, whilst in the bar I got a text message from Wendell saying he had shot 66-67 to comfortably qualify. I replied with congratulations and informed him that my round of 68 had left my hopes in the balance. Some quiet time in the motor home and discussions with Sunny about my game over the two rounds helped me to get into a decent frame of mind for any possible play-off.

Waiting and being reliant on the performances of other players is a very strange feeling for any sports person. You spend your life working extremely hard to be successful, then for those moments your success is completely out of your hands. Sporting people never wish ill on any other competitor, but in situations like this it is a case of kill or be killed, or to be more precise watch die or watch yourself die.

Hit a few balls on the practice ground, mainly to feel the rhythm I wanted, but also to kill some time. When I was within about thirty minutes of knowing my fate I headed over to the eighteenth green and the scoreboard area. Glancing at the score I discovered that five people were already finished with better scores than mine and one of yesterday’s leaders was just about to finish. A solid second round from that guy put me in seventh spot, of the ones who had finished, with three groups left out on the course. Nine players out there and I couldn’t afford one of them to do any better than me.

Body language can be deceiving but sometimes it says a lot. The next three players to come down that eighteenth fairway were not looking greatly interested in what they were doing, shoulders a little slumped, heads more down than up and time taken over approach shots to the green was minimal. No nasty surprises from this group, none of them got near my total. Checking the scoreboard more thoroughly Sunny noticed that the three players in the last group had all produced bad scores on the first day and therefore, barring a golfing miracle, none of them would match or better my score. All the people involved in organising the event were keen that any play-off would begin promptly, a little concerned by the potential lack of daylight. The on course marshals were keeping in touch with the scores behind the eighteenth green. A few polite inquiries from Sunny lead to us finding out that there was only one player in the last six that could match or better my score. He was in the penultimate group and needed a par to tie me, and a birdie to beat and eliminate me from the US Open. After his drive found the middle of the fairway I knew I was in for a nervous time. He was an eighteen year old amateur and I must admit thoughts of “you’ve got plenty of years to come to qualify for the US Open, let me have this one,” did cross my mind. Hitting his second shot twenty feet from the hole did nothing to calm my nerves nor, I suspect, his, although I’d have swapped places with him in a heartbeat, at least he could do something. Looking composed as he studied his birdie putt, looked comfortable as he stood over the ball, putted with a silky smooth stroke and it homed in on the hole. It looked like it couldn’t miss but I watched it right to the end anyway, in the last couple of rolls it leaked a fraction to the right, dipped in the edge of the hole; but did not disappear completely, some how it had stayed above ground. Complete reversal from the previous years Open qualifying tournament back home, that time my opponents chip wasn’t nearly good enough to deserve to go in, this time this guy’s putt certainly did deserve to go in. Already well aware you don’t always get what you deserve; I didn’t have any guilty or lucky feelings as I headed for that play off.

My opponent went straight from handing in his scorecard to the first tee, where I was waiting for him. We introduced ourselves but neither of us had a lot else to say. One theory about play-offs in the professional game is that the advantage lies with the player who has finished most recently as they haven’t had a break and any time to lose rhythm or stiffen up at all. After his putt on the eighteenth I was just glad to still be in the US Open. A toss of a coin decided that I was to go first. Could feel my heart pounding as I stood over the tee-shot, rhythm was pretty good but just tweaked it a little left into the rough, it would be difficult to get to the green from there. He on the other hand showed no signs of nerves and smashed a long drive, right down the middle of the fairway. Upon getting to my ball I could see immediately that it was I worse lie than I had imagined. A thick bunch of grass behind the ball was going to impair the strike and make controlling the shot seriously difficult. Often when grass gets caught between the ball and the club a shot known as a “flier” results, this means the ball travels further than usual. Predicting these fliers was one of the delicate arts of the game and nobody gets it right all the time. Sunny and I agreed that it was best to allow for a flier, not really because either of us were particularly confident that one would occur, more because over the back of the green was more troublesome than short of it. Extra emphasis on keeping my smooth rhythm resulted in a sweet strike and the ball flying straight at the hole, but no hint of a flier and the ball came to rest around five yards short of the green and twenty of the flag. My opponent wasted no time in hitting what was probably no more than an eight iron, he sent it towering up in the air and it was all over the flag. Landed about six feet short of the flag hopped about four feet past and gently spun back until it was about three feet short of the hole. Now I felt like I had to chip in to stay in the US Open. The lie this time was perfect and the slightly up hill chip was inviting. I always like to have the flag taken out whenever I’ve got a chip shot where I can see the hole and am completely focussed on holing the shot. Sunny dutifully removed the flag after giving me her thoughts on how the chip would roll upon landing on the green. On all my short shorts I try to imagine I’m watching myself play them on video and the tape is running in slow motion, that’s the kind of tempo I want. I produced a gorgeous chip and as soon as I’d finished the shot I found myself looking up in anticipation towards the hole. Agony, pure agony as the ball hung on the front edge of the hole, but was never going to drop in.

‘Great effort man,’ one of the around fifty people watching said, just as I dropped my club and put my hands to my head.

‘Thanks,’ actually I was proud of myself for being able to be genuinely courteous at such a moment.

Tapped the ball in with my sand wedge, that I’d chipped the ball with, then waited for my young opponent to seal my fate. He took and inordinate amount of time over the putt and the longer he took the more interested I became. It was a virtually straight putt, but often when you look at a putt for long enough you start seeing a slope that isn’t there. For the first time he looked a little nervous and he hit a weak putt at the right edge of the hole and it was never going to go in, he looked distraught, tapped it in, marched angrily off the green and tossed his putter in the general direction of his bag. I stared at the putt and somehow managed to keep a blank stare fixed on him as he vividly expressed his emotions. Bullet well and truly dodged. Second hole was another par four of a similar length, a generously wide fairway meant that I had no worries about hitting the tee shot with the driver. I produced one of my serenely smooth drives, not overly long but never anywhere but the middle of the fairway. Still looking angry and ruffled he teed the ball up and made a slightly lunging motion and pulled it some twenty yards left of the fairway. After a little search for his ball it was found in a spot that he wasn’t happy with, in amongst clumps of grass with some big trees blocking his path to the green. His angry state actually suited the swing speed required to get the ball out of that grass and the distance required to the fairway. Struck it well but never looked like curving it enough from right to left to get the ball onto the green. Instead he found an awkward spot in the back of a bunker. I had a good yardage left for a smooth seven iron and given my opponent’s situation I aimed safely at the middle of the green about fifteen feet to the right of the hole and hit my target with unerring accuracy. Still muttering to himself, he was once again unhappy with where his ball had finished up, did well to get it out of the sand and to the edge of the green about thirty feet away. He made a very good effort to regain his composure before hitting his putt, but I was fairly sure that his heart was still pumping a little more than he wanted and that his hands weren’t quite under the control he desired. The putt only finished about six inches away but never looked like going in. Now the path to the US Open was clear for me. For the first time I felt it was me who had control of my destiny. Two putts from fifteen feet should be routine and as long as I didn’t let complacency creep in it was a task I’d be successful at a hundred times out of a hundred on the practice putting green. I studied the putt with my usual intensity, paying that little bit extra attention to how hard I need to hit the putt. Nudged it down to the hole side and enjoyed every moment of tapping in the four inch putt that meant I was going to the US Open. Now I really could focus only on Pinehurst No. 2. Sunny and I produced a couple of literal sighs of relief, it had been thoroughly draining. Relief being the overriding emotion, after qualifying for the US Open, was a fantastic improvement upon last year when I was deliriously happy.

Chapter 15

‘The world itself is a beautiful creation. Sadly somewhere along the line an element of evil was added to the make up of this planet.’

Didn’t realise quite how much mental effort I had put into that qualifying tournament, especially that second round when faced with the distinct possibility I wouldn’t qualify. Sunny was feeling drained as well so we postponed our little celebratory night out until the night after the night after.

The timing of the qualifying event meant that I now had just over a week to complete my preparations for the US Open. After a lazy lie in I managed to get in a couple of hours of gentle, yet important practice. Importance lied within that feeling of hitting a few shots almost as a wind down from the stresses of the previous day.

Not far from where Sunny grew up there was a Sports Bar that had a very good reputation amongst the locals. Sunny herself had sampled the boisterous yet friendly atmosphere in there, and it was her suggestion for that to be the destination for our celebratory night out. Determined to avoid any bar brawls this time we kept ourselves to ourselves, generally chilling out, trivial chatting, played some pool and watched “Sports Centre” on the big screen. The TV show featured virtually purely speculation about which player would sign what contract. Summer months in America are a little slow for sport, with a time when of the major American sports only baseball is active, sports like golf and tennis are thrust into the focus a little more. Yet still Baseball, Basketball and American Football are so dominant that a strong rumour of a famous player switching teams will take centre stage over the scores from a PGA Tour event. Unlike the British sports fan Americans do not have the contrasting joys of Cricket and Rugby League to fill the summer months so that their beloved football is not so missed.

At one stage in the evening Sunny had gone to the ladies room, leaving me at the bar. Whilst she was away a minor disturbance occurred on the other side of the bar. It never looked like getting out of hand, and I certainly wasn’t about to get involved. When Sunny came back people were still raising voices and exchanging recriminations.

‘What’s happening?’ Sunny gestured towards the mild fracas.

‘Those two guys hitting on a couple of ladies who are already taken, seems to be all.’

Sunny looked over to the guilty pair, her eyes fixed on them for a few seconds and it seemed like it required a big conscious effort to avert her gaze.

‘You all right?’ I checked.

‘Fine, I’m fine. I just need to go to the bathroom.’
‘You’ve just been,’ I said as she turned and headed for the bathroom.

‘I know, I just need to check on my hair.’

Her hair was in a pony tail, pulled back with no fringe and even I knew that nothing could have gone wrong with that look during the course of an evening out. I went to catch up with her to find out what was on her mind. Before I got completely out of my seat I was grabbed on the shoulder by an American guy who I’d played with in a couple of times in mini tour events. Never thought of him as particularly the social type but that night he’d obviously had a little alcohol, and all of a sudden was acting as my best friend. He wanted to know whether I’d played in the qualifier and how I’d done, then he told me how he’d missed the play-off by four shots and how he’d missed so many putts. Without complete disregard for politeness I’d tried to get rid of him as quick as I could, but he still kept me there for two or three minutes. By this stage Sunny was out of my sight. I walked over towards the ladies room then asked a young lady who was about to go in whether she could check if Sunny was in there for me from my brief description of her. No sign of Sunny in there, so I had a quick look round the rest of the bar and started to get a little panicky, so unlike her to walk off without notice, or be visibly ruffled in anyway. Only thing I could think of was to walk to our motor home that was parked just a few yards away from the bar.

Opened the back doors to the living area and was confronted with the worst sight of my life. Sunny sat down on her bed, leaning back against the wall holding a gun in her mouth and tears streaming down her face. I can’t begin to imagine how she was feeling at that moment, but I do know that my heart was pounding like never before, no putt for any prize could ever make me feel so nervous. Feeling I needed to say something like never before, but not having the faintest idea what was best to say, I ended up saying the one collection of words that was going round in my head.

‘What in the hell do you think you’re doing?’ For some reason it came out sounding like a disgruntled teaching upon finding some pupils smoking.

Sunny took the gun slightly out of her month, turned to face me with an icy stare and told me; ‘I’m about to kill myself, so please fuck off!’ She was clearly taken aback by my opening line, which hadn’t helped her mental state.

‘Okay I’m sorry, that was probably not what you wanted to hear. But I’m looking at my best friend sitting with a gun in her mouth, so you’ll have to forgive my brain being a little scrambled.’
‘Unless you get out quick you’ll be looking at your best friend pulling the trigger and her brain will be scrambled.’
‘I really don’t know what to say Sunny, I do know I don’t want you to pull that trigger. So if there’s anything you want me to say that will stop you getting trigger happy then please tell me.’
‘There’s nothing anybody can say,’ slowly put the gun back in her mouth and turned away, held it in two hands and put a finger on the trigger.

Sweat began to pour out of me and my heart rate increased still further. My vision became a little blurry as I envisioned the effects of Sunny pulling that trigger.

‘Wait!’ I found myself almost involuntarily screaming, before I managed to gain some sort of composure and control over the words I was speaking. ‘I’ve no clue what is going on here, and I suppose in the end it’s really not up to me whether you should live or die. But please can you at least tell my why, why are you feeling this bad? Don’t let me die wondering.’

Sunny closed her eyes, swallowed hard and took a deep breath. For two or three seconds I thought she was going to do it right then, paralysed by fear I was powerless to stop her. Her right index finger rested against the trigger and looked to be motioning to pull back, instead for now the only thing that burst out were floods of tears. After thirty seconds or so of sobbing with her lips still wrapped around the end of the gun, she withdrew the handgun, turned briefly to face me, then turned back to stare blankly straight ahead.

‘You really want to know?’
‘Of course I want to know.’
She wiped her eyes with one hand whilst keeping the gun in the other, took another deep breath and began to speak in that same distant and disillusioned tone, she had used when she described her ordeal as a fourteen year old.

‘Those two guys in there, causing the disturbance,’ I knew the rest of the sentence before she said it, but even after she spoke the words I could hardly believe it. ‘I’d considered that they may be out of prison by now, we all know how ludicrous the system can be. But seeing them, actually seeing them again means that they exist, my ordeal actually happened and it’s not just a nightmare that leaves me emotionally scared. Two human beings who share the same planet as people like you and me, actually acted in such an evil way towards me. Now a little less than nine years later and they are going around living their life like nothing ever happened. Still hanging out together, you’d think they wouldn’t be able to look themselves in the mirror let alone continue to spend time with the person they did that with. Clearly still annoying people and ladies in particular. How ever long they were in prison for, then that’s the whole episode finished with for them. My sentence will last as long as I live. No matter what I do, I’ll always be imprisoned by them. Jenny and you are my best friends and I can barely bring myself to hug you ever, a high five can sometimes send a shiver down my spine. If there’s any justice when they die they will suffer eternal torment in hell, and they will have done something to deserve that, so what did I do to deserve my everlasting torment in this lifetime? I’m sorry Jack I really am, like everybody else I have no idea whether there is an after life and if so what it is like, but whatever it is it can’t be any worse than how I’m feeling right now. Good luck Jack I’ll see you on the other side.’

Gun back into mouth and trigger finger poised once again. Still clueless as to what to say, I was in full panic mode as it looked like I had only a couple of seconds to keep her from suicide.

‘Don’t let them win.’
‘They won a long time ago. Round about the time they sexually abused me for hours when I was fourteen, completely ruining my life and showing me that life is hideous.’
‘Life’s fantastic, it’s just some of the people that are hideous. You met two of the worst and suffered an indescribable amount at their hands, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a good person and that life can’t be good.’

‘You have no idea how I’m feeling.’
‘Of course I don’t, just like you don’t know how I’m feeling. Each of us is all alone in that respect, doesn’t mean we can’t help each other out. Sometimes we need to let people help us, I know I’m not very good at that myself but please let me help you now.’

‘You’ve helped me a lot over the last couple of years. But now it’s come down to this and I’ve completely had enough, I can’t take it anymore, it is over,’ extreme despondency doesn’t come near fully describing her tone or her look.

With what was now a sickening familiarity her mouth opened and the gun slid in as she closed her eyes.

‘My life’s over, I hope I made life better for a few people.’ Desired effect of stopping her in her tracks was achieved.

Opened her eyes, pulled the gun out and asked; ‘What?’

‘Sorry, just checking whether that is still what you want as your epitaph.’
‘I can’t believe you remember that,’ for the first time there was the merest hint of a lift in the gloom.

‘I remember thinking how perfectly spot on an epitaph that would be for you, knowing that you do make life better for so many people, whilst you’re still humble enough to not be sure of that yourself. ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ is your favourite film, let me be your Clarence for a moment. My life would be massively worse without you and I know for a fact that Jenny feels the same. Plus there are all those people you meet, even the ones you only meet once and maybe even just exchange a friendly greeting or even just a look and a smile. You make people’s day that bit better for seeing you, I’ve seen it so often, you can cheer people up just by your presence. Never a bad word to say about them, and always greet them with a smile and a friendly manner. I’m sure you think there’s nothing special in that, but believe me it’s one of the rarest of abilities. Trust me I know, I try to do it myself sometimes but more often than not I just comes across as some weird guy. You know you’ve got a hidden dark side and so do I, but these people don’t, they just see “Sunny, that girl who always improves my day”. What I’m trying to say and seriously floundering to do so, is that it is unarguably the case that the world is a better place with you in it, which I also remember as being your ambition. Your suicide would make the world a worse place. I know it’s unbelievably tough for you to go on, but you’ve been doing it for nine years and I know you’re tough enough to keep on going.’

The gun dropped to the floor and Sunny broke down into uncontrollable tears. I sat next to her and tentatively put an arm around her, she put an arm around me as the crying continued.

‘I just don’t know how I can keep going,’ she managed to say amongst the tears.

‘Like most people do, you’ll just have to go one day at a time for now.’

‘A day? I’m not sure I can make it through the next hour.’

‘Then make it through the next half hour, or the next minute, just break it down until it’s manageable.’

‘I can try that,’ she somewhat gathered composure and broke off the hug and we made full eye contact for the first time since before Sunny had a gun in her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Not even close to a need to apologise. One thing I am wondering.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Where did you get that gun and how long have you had it?’
‘Oh my naïve English friend, I’m American.’

‘From suicidal to witty, I’m loving that.’
‘The line between tragedy and humour can be wafer thin.’
‘I don’t know about you but I feel like ripping those two guys heads off and sewing them back on, just so I can rip them off again. But I’m guessing you don’t want me to do anything like that.’
‘There’s nothing I’d love more than for you to do that, but only in a world with no consequences. I decided a long time ago that I would put my faith in the universe to gain any revenge on my behalf.’
‘Of the eternal torment in hell kind?’
‘Something along those lines yeah. I thought I was coping with it, I really did, but seeing them again was too horrible to bear.’
‘Perfectly understandable reaction, as long as you didn’t actually go through with it.’
‘I honestly don’t know if I’d have gone through with it or not if you hadn’t showed up.’
‘I guess we’ll never know.’
‘You’re not getting uncomfortable with gaining hero status are you?’
‘Hero? I suppose if you want to put a label on what I’ve just done.’
‘Using humour to avoid a serious moment, that is so unlike you.’
‘Using sarcasm that is so unlike you.’
‘All right then, big life moment over. Now I’m going to go out and get drunk and you, well you can watch.’
‘Got nothing better to do tonight.’
‘Come on there’s a little place just round the corner that will be perfect for my attempt to reach a state of comatose. Promise me you won’t let me do any karaoke.’
‘Now would I let you embarrass yourself like that?’

The following day Sunny woke up about two o’clock in the afternoon, whilst I was having my dinner and reading the paper. Hair still in a, now slightly looser, pony tail, wearing the same clothes she went out in the previous night and sleeping on top of the covers, Sunny was one of those people who could never be described as looking rough but she clearly wasn’t at her best.

‘Oh my God, I’ve never truly had a hang over until now. The room is spinning so fast it almost looks still. What time is it? What on earth did I do last night? And get me a bucket,’ Sunny spoke as she remained flat out on her back.
‘Two o’clock in the afternoon, the buckets all ready by your bed and it’s a funny story. You started by recommending a quiet little place around the corner, only that’s not there anymore.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘Because you drank it.’

‘So this hideous feeling is purely self inflicted? What insanity.’
‘Preaching to the converted honey, although to be fair your old friend Jack Daniels did have something to do with it.’
‘Yeah blame it on a dead guy, that’ll stop the insanity.’

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