They hurt, my eyeballs, stinging.I closed them again.'Where am I?' is such a cliche, but sometimes it fit the situation.Let's review. I was in bed, bu... it wasn't my bed. It didn't feel right. Besides, the ceiling was green. Puke green. Who would paint their ceiling puke green? It was hard to concentrate.My shoulder itched.I decided that was more important than where I was. I lifted my hand. It felt funny and I couldn't wiggle my fingers. I reached up to scratch my shoulder... "Oh, God!" I. If only she'd thought to bring more sleeping pills with her on the plane. But it was too late for "ifs" now--a drink would have to suffice.She poured a generous amount of Johnny Walker Black Label into a glass she found in the small kitchen cabinet, then added ice cubes from the refrigerator. Settling back in her bed, she sipped at the drink. It burned unpleasantly at first--this was the first time the young girl had ever tried Scotch--but after a few minutes she felt the alcohol warming her. More

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