Take my narcolepsy plus Sam's perpetual exhaustion, prone to napping wherever he sits down, throw in twenty-four hour olympic coverage and an endless supply of firewood and you have a couple of fair-haired snoozers who seem awake less than more and not the least bit apologetic for it. There's something inherently comforting about listening to crackling flames with one ear while the other is treated to a flannel-wrapped heartbeat.
Sam is not a thirty-minute power napper the way Loch is, efficient to a fault, Sam is a lose-the-whole-day-don't-give-a-shit-someone-will-lock-the-church sort of psycho-coma-sleeper who wakes up dazed and sweaty like a toddler. But rested. He wakes up rested. Well, until he sits down again and tries to read and then nods off.
I think I might steal him from Matt. Maybe Matt will take trades?
