There was something foul, burning in his mouth. He was coming around now, he realized. His throat felt raw. Where am I? he asked himself. He spit to clear his mouth, not really caring.
He opened his eyes. The light was poor, but he looked to be in a forest of horizontal bars — he thought he faced a maze of ladders arranged by a lunatic. Some near, some farther, fuzzy, out-of-focus. A fog seemed to hang in the air. He tried to turn his head. Pain lanced through his shoulder and neck. Continue reading A Case in Chinatown