He seems at loose ends, half-hearted, polite but distant, vaguely disreputable with his crosscurrents of thick wavy hair spilling off in several directions, vaguely sinister behind his steel-rimmed eyeglasses that trap the light at odd angles and turn into tarnished mirrors. He stares vacantly over the shoulders of people and tends to become aware of their voices when they stop talking. He has trouble swallowing, digesting, defecating. And remembering; especially remembering. His mind wanders; sometimes he gets where he's going with no memory of the trip. Sleep is out of the question. The few times he has managed to doze off, he woke up screaming - though he was never certain which of the recent events in his life he was screaming about.
- From The Debriefing by Robert Littell
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