Sleep is a wonderful thing, Jake. My hat’s off to whoever invented it. The drug that takes itself. There you are, stuffing paper into your boots on an October afternoon, when suddenly – or gradually, as the case may be – the edges of your senses go soft and you realize you’d give up a few years of your life for a place to lie down.

Places to lie down were a lot easier to find back when I was eighteen. Explain that to me.