“What’s going on?” Jack whispers, following me. I flip on the lights, and he sees Donnelly sleepwalking. My best friend is running into the wall, his eyes are open but not focused. He turns towards the microwave, his chestnut hair askew and boxer-briefs low on his waist. “He’s done this before?” Jack whispers, watching me carefully try to guide my friend back to his bedroom. “Yeah, sometimes. Not all the time.”
