CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

The clouds right above Golden Lake University; hostels, buildings, cafeteria, pool, too, and everything that fell into Golden Lake's territory were ruddy and as the clouds stretched towards the skyline, they gradually faded like an old piece of clothing that had become a rag to a shade of pale brown; the kind of brown found on maple leaves during autumn. 

Harold lay coiled on his bed like a millipede under attack with his wooly blanket that knocked off dawn's chilly weather stretching from his curled toes—that touched the end of his bed, all the way to his neck. His eyelids were closed in a slumber and he snored gently in a calming rhythm.

All of a sudden he jolted up, gasping for breath, like a swimmer who had held his breath under water for hours, his eyes failing to blink as he looked all around barely able to make out the grotesque raincoat—that hadn't come to any use so far, hanging from a nail drilled into the wall beside the door, or Wil