The sudden brightness as the stable door opened and consequent noises pulled Robert out of his drunken slumber. He lay sprawled in the hay with a bottle of gin on his left and a polished wooden box on the other. He was well dressed, but disheveled and there was a bruise on his cheek. As soon as he was awake enough to be somewhat conscious, he felt his stomach churn, sat up, and expelled its contents on the floor in front of him.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Get out of here, man, or I'll shoot you!" he shouted at whatever obnoxious stable hand had decided to interrupt his sleep.