I rolled them out in my hand and just looking at them gave me a fuzzy taste in my mouth so I rolled them back.
It was one to think yourself out of.
I went into the living room and climbed through the window and peered down into the glittering slot of Madison Avenue until, all of a sudden, I began to shake. I almost threw up before I could scramble back into the apartment.
I sat down and stared at the sky.
You could still see a few stars in the haze. The night was as close as a pressure cooker.
My nausea left slowly; my shakes subsided.
In states of this sort I usually try, if possible, to make a list of Things to Do.
Things to Do on Sunday Night in the Big City, after the witching hour.