Even Grant was surprised at how hard he’d just vomited.
He’d hit the bottle hard for the last couple days, celebrating his divorce. A new lease on life! Ding, dong, the witch is gone! What had started as a few drinks with a few remaining friends had escalated into an all-night bender of truly bacchian proportions.
A few drinks in, and Grant was charming. Five or six scotches and his smile would morph into a sneer. Anything more and he was a soccer hooligan who took no prisoners, left no insult unspoken, no beer bottle unsmashed and no sucker-punch unthrown.
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And now, as the bright, punishing sunlight streamed in, Grant blinked dumbly at all the corn in his toilet bowl. But not just corn. A half-dozen, 6-foot stalks of corn had left his body and were now standing in his toilet bowl.
