GENERATION X: LOVE AMONG THE RUINS

My eyes opened slowly that morning, slowerthan usual. I shut them, fear pulsing through every nerve ending in my alcohol-saturated torso.

I had died.

There was no denying it—after all, I'd read enough "untold stories" detailing the final scene to know what to expect. What my eyes beheld in that split-second of reality was light—intense light cutting through the filmy windows of my London hotel room, blinding me. The angel of death was somewhere nearby, packing my toothbrush and preparing to wisk me to the great beyond.

The only truth I knew was in a bottle of codeine on the nightstand. If I could fumble one into my oral cavity, I might just.,.

The alarm clock rang.

I shut it off with a sigh. God would've prevented that bell from ringing if I was truly on my way out. Who needs alarm clocks when you've got eternity to play with? Casting migraines to the wind, I forced my lids to an erect position.

My sp*rm will b* your downfall.

Warmth. Sunlight. A week in London's rainy fog had convinced me that maybe the sun never set on the British empire, but it certainly never rose there, either.