Wait, what, they do?
Me, falling asleep reading Stephen King. That's like ... something unimaginable anyhow.
I think my bed is packed with, well, germs, definitely, but I prefer to think that it's packed with a load of sleeping powder. You lie on it and BAM you're under. The very thought of it actually makes me drowsy. And it's just me. This bed and I, we have a very special relationship, alcohol notwithstanding.
This has been a post written by someone who is neither here nor there.