An excerpt from a book I am reading

[ruarri]

Inside Tuck's head sounded like this: I have to catch a plane. I'm pissing fire. I need a shower. Check the stitches. No water. It looks infected. Probably leprosy. I hate this place. I'm sure it's infected. When does the water come on? It's going to turn black and fall off. Whoever heard of a place with satellite TV but no running water? I'll never fly again. I'm thirty years old and I have no job. And no dick. And who the hell was the guy in the pakring lot last night? I smell like rancid goat meat. Probably the infection. Gangrene. I can't believe there's no running water. I'm going to die. Die, die, die.

Not a pleasant place to be: inside Tuck's head.