Truly Human

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The thing was, Nick Russell told himself irritably, he had not been that drunk. He remembered coming back to the hotel, hanging up his clothes, piling into bed. So why was his collar too tight and what in God’s name was he doing in a chair?

He opened one eye, wincing at the light. What he saw made no sense, and he closed the eye again.

He had been to two of those places in Pig Alley where the girls took off everything except their hats. Next had come that little bar on the side street and the snooty brunette in the low-cut dress - boy, he had told her off – then he had said the hell with it and had gone to bed.

Now he had on all his clothes and the damn things were too tight. He grunted, opened both eyes. The walls were funny. TV screens, gadgets everywhere. He tried to get up but could not.

He stared incredulously at himself. Broad white straps crossed his chest and thighs. Under them he wore a brown sports jacket and the pants of his good blue suit, a red necktie and a bright yellow sports shirt.

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