Dean sat at a table in the dining hall, hunched over a plate of chili fries. He'd been thinking about Jack's idea. It was sound, and it was fair, but he wondered if it would work. He half-hoped it wouldn't, and half-hoped it would. He'd pick a direction and walk, same as he expected everyone else would ( Read more... )

Bertie Wooster penned a mental note to himself, in re: drinking excessively upon discovery that Worcestershire had become a desert, not to do it again in the future.  Then he mentally crumpled the note, tossed it into a mental rubbish bin and went searching for both mental and actual aspirin ( Read more... )

Alice felt like shit for what she'd said to Wilson. Breaking the heart of someone you knew was one thing, but doing it to someone she barely knew made her feel like shit. She was drinking a weak screwdriver at the bar, a book of Tolstoy's short stories open in front of her. Guilt ruined her willpower, and she had a half-full pack of cigarettes ( Read more... )

Just a couple days after stumbling into this bizarre place, John found himself seated at the bar, nursing a Scotch. He'd taken the key the Bellboy designated for him -- despite never having actually checked in -- and gone to his assigned room for the night. He'd wanted to call his wife but had found the room phone to be out of order or something ( Read more... )

John House stood, feet planted shoulder-width apart, his golf club held firmly between both hands as he eyed the sloping expanse of the golf course before him, peering at the distant flag at the 13th hole ( Read more... )