A long time ago I took a roadtrip with a writer-chum. Not a long trip as such things go but it was a solid two days of non-stop roadriding America, from the heartland to the old home-country, the East, the old East, New England. Rhode Island. I drove through most of the night on two pre-trip days of no sleep, much work and gallons of coffee. By morning and Providence I had terminal chatters, my eye-balls were flickering in and out of some kind of worldless place full of sand and I couldn't sleep for trying.
I'm a whimp.
At any rate, the ride spawned a couple of stories. One of them is one of my "vile tales," RAT TIME IN THE HALL OF PAIN. It's a creepy thing. One of those stories I wrote in a heat, read a few times, realized that it was creepy even for me and put away.
Going through that trunk that's been holding these tales, I brought it out to take another look and suddenly began to realize what the damned thing is about. I'm now shaping and trimming it for DRINK... It still creeps me out.