Chapter 22

           Allnightlong,yourthoughtsareontheair. 

           AmIsleeping?HaveIsleptatall?Thisistheinsomnia. 

           Trytorelaxalittlemorewitheverybreathout, butyourheart’sstillracingandyourthoughtstornadoinyourhead. 

           Nothingworks.Notguidedmeditation. 

           You’reinIreland. 

           Notcountingsheep. 

           Youcountupthedays,hours,minutessinceyoucanrememberfallingasleep. Yourdoctorlaughed.Nobodyeverdiedfromlackofsleep. Theoldbruisedfruitwayyourfacelooks,you’dthinkyouweredead. 

           Afterthreeo’clockinthemorninginamotelbedinSeattle, it’stoolateforyoutofindacancersupportgroup. ToolatetofindsomelittleblueAmytalSodiumcapsules orlipstick-redSeconals,thewholeValleyoftheDollsplayset. Afterthreeinthemorning,youcan’tgetintoafightclub. 

           You’vegottofindTyler. 

           You’vegottogetsomesleep. 

           Thenyou’reawake,andTyler’sstandinginthedarknexttothebed. 

           Youwakeup. 

           Themomentyouwerefallingasleep,Tylerwasstandingtheresaying, "Wakeup.Wakeup,wesolvedtheproblemwiththepolicehereinSeattle.Wakeup." 

           Thepolicecommissionerwantedacrackdownonwhathecalledgang-typeactivity andafter-hoursboxingclubs. 

           "Butnottoworry,"Tylersays. "Misterpolicecommissionershouldn’tbeaproblem,"Tylersays. "Wehavehimbytheballs,now."