Larry jerked awake with a start. The sheets were sodden with sweat again and his visor was down around his neck; his hair askew. He groped for the bedside table and clawed around and found it on the second grasp: the small plastic pouch of thick, sickly-sweet syrup. Pure six-to-one Dr. Pepper concentrate. He ripped the corner off the pouch with his incisors and squeezed the syrup onto his palate, swallowing greedily and then rubbing the residue furiously around his gums with one forefinger.