He arrived back at the house, and, this time, attacking the guest bathroom on the second floor, he found beneath that bathroom sink, waaaaay in the back, a roll of expired nicotine patches. The sight of them made him want a cigarette, which made him realize that if he smoked, he’d have to quit, which would make these the exact right thing he should put on his body right this minute and maybe, in conjunction with the codeine, it would help get him through the evening and the next day. There had been six expired patches in the box; he put all of them on: one on each biceps, one on each thigh,
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impeccable logic
