HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH?
His head was spinning violently. He could not stand on his own. The whole world was swimming before his eyes as if he was looking through a screen of smoke. He felt that his feet were playing games with him. Every tread seemed to be laborious, with the effort making him sweat. He clamped down the violent urge to throw up and swallowed down the bile that threatened to drown him. The cars that whizzed pass did not make him even blink an eye lid. He felt that he was invincible, except for the revolutions of his head, and even tried to throw some thing at a passing Amby – that was wheezing and sputtering. Later, on retrospection, he would ask to him self, “Why did I take a dig out at that Ambassador?”, it had its own fair bit of problems – like the clogged exhaust, pistons that no longer produced the, escape velocity needed to propel the massive junk of rusting metal forward, or the air horn when in operation, which it seldom did, made a sexagenarian with acute case of Tuberculosis sound...