Coats with torn linings and loose buttons gradually appear in front of Geoff as he trips over a low pile of galoshes. The cupboard between the Tavern and the Recovery Ward looms in front of him, and he sees light coming from under the door to the left. . .

"Galoshes and bazookas. What will they think of next?" he mutters to himself as he rises from his knees and staggers into the room, musical instrument in one hand, whiskey glass in the other. . .