At that moment he knew he would have sold his soul for a cup of coffee. Aloud he said, "Bring it ... fast! And get that sickening glass of milk out of here. It's leering at me."
Shaking her head, she left.
If the inside sweats would only stop a moment, he thought, he'd be able to take time out to feel sorry for her. After all she hadn't raised her son to be a drunkard ... it must be very difficult for her. But a question rose large in his mind. How had those bats gotten into his insides? Looking down at it, feeling what the bats were doing to the wall of his stomach, he called it a belly for the first time in his life.
"My belly," he said to himself, "hurts." And he didn't even feel the soap sensation in his mouth. But then the taste that was already there was so much like the inside of a parrot's cage that perhaps the psychic soap was just lost in the other, more horrible, taste.
Curiously he found that the steaming, jet black coffee made him feel better. How had he known it would? Perhaps Grundy ... or Bowdler had told him about it....
His mother watched him drink the dread potion silently. Then she said, "My poor, poor boy. When do you have to do this terrible thing again?"
He lifted his head and found that he could endure the sunlight. In some lost cavern in the back of his head he heard Bowdler's drunken voice saying, "And if you think you're gonna die, buddy boy, remember, a hair of the dog will fix you up."
The idea of eating a dog's hair almost made him run for the bathroom again, but he conquered the feeling.
Then he considered his mother's question. When must he get drunk again? Why ... right now. This minute. Besides, he wanted to find out more about these puzzles that baffled him, from his buddies. He smiled remembering the good feeling of fellowship that had been his when he had sung some old song with Bowdler and Grundy.
How did the words go?