For two more days I feel like s**t, but I guess after three-hundred and sixty-five plus days of being inebriated it's to be expected. On the fifth day, I eat the soup Sierra brings and for the first time, the food decides to stay down. The alcohol cravings continue and the body trembles are still there, which makes me feel weaker than I probably am. So much sweat has drenched the sheets on the bed that the entire cabin is beginning to smell like raw sewage. I'm glad when my mind seems much clearer after the meal and my headache subsides.
Sierra has been as quiet as the bears when she brings my meals. Of course, she wears those outrageous outfits that make me think of wild s*x. Her sweet smile tells another story, though, and her innocence keeps me from making suggestive comments. The ques
