If he were a philosophical guy, he'd start to attribute the jitters to a severe adrenaline addiction, but he wasn't, which meant that by the time Thursday rolled along he was back in his room. Feeling restless.
This day's anti-drug of choice was comic books. They didn't take a lot of reading, they were violent, and some of them were hilarious: right what he needed. (Well, okay, what he needed was another mission, and a better way to strike back at Praxis, but that wasn't an option right now)
The door had been kicked half-open, and Jak was sitting on his bed, flicking through pages and eying his communicator from time to time.
[[ half-open door, totally open post! ]]