Solution Nassau part 4

Mark woke up in the grass spread eagle. He looked into the sky and saw the Orion constellation perfectly mirroring his own posture on the grass. An airplane as small as two blinking lights travelled a straight line between Sirius and Orion's feet. Mark tried to sit up and fainted back onto the grass. Opening his eyes again, he saw the same lights, now flying past Sirius, blink twice and stutter back to the same spot in the sky behind Sirius. Then the lights blinked twice more and stuttered forward on the other side of Sirius. The sky seemed to be lightening where his feet pointed, but as he sat up one more time he saw more stars than before. The real stars stayed in one position in the sky while the fake stars danced and turned in tight circles. He pulled up his legs and fell forward to crawl on all fours.
The grass was well-manicured and he wasn't too far from a line of trees. He thought he must be on a golf course. The rush of blood in his ears was replaced by the swell and ebb of a beach somewhere in front of him. He crawled to the rough between some palm trees and sat on his haunches like a dog. He stared for a while at the white sand and dark water. The sky was an infinite shades of blue, from lightest in front of him at the rim of the sky and ocean, then darkest directly behind him. The lighter shades of blue imperceptibly pushed up the darker shades higher in the sky.
Turning to look behind him, Mark could align himself with some landmarks. He was familiar with a beach on the east side of Paradise Island and there was a golf course he had played on business trips with his father. He was lucky enough to get his bearings and guess he was somewhere near the tee on the fifth hole. He had gotten a six on this hole, and that was only by cheating. He had teed up the ball twice on the green during his approach.
Mark stopped crawling around and leaned his back against a palm tree. His mouth was full of the tastes of bile, copper, and acetone. He reached his hand to the back of his head and felt a golf-ball-sized knot. His hand was covered with something sticky and gritty. He shook out the front of his hair and sprayed sand all over his lap. He tried to swallow and choked up hot tears and more swirling stars. He fell over on his shoulder because it was easier than sitting up. He let his tears water the grass. He passed in and out of consciousness until the sky became layers of bright pink and deep red.
He was able to stand up precariously as he used the palm tree for support. He wandered over to the golf path and spotted a foursome getting out of a cart. He raised his hand in a greeting. He noticed the sleeve of his hoodie was filthy and ripped to the elbow. He could see brown spots splattered down his left side. The four golfers noticed him and waved warily in response. As Mark drew closer, they all laughed.
"Tough night, huh?" one golfer asked.
"Hey, uh," began Mark uncertainly. "Can I get a ride to the clubhouse or something?"
"Sure, buddy," said another golfer. "Geez, you got banged up. You had way too much fun!"
All the golfers laughed and offered high fives to Mark. Mark accepted two but couldn't take any more. He bent over and pressed his hands to his knees.
"Whoah," said the first golfer. "All right, all right."
The third golfer pressed the service button in the cart and said, "I called the greens keeper. They'll be out here in a minute."
Mark managed to stand up and said, "Okay, thanks guys. I'll sit on that bench." He pointed near the tee. "You guys go have fun. Don't worry about me."
"We won't," said the first golfer, and they laughed. The golfers argued over who was going to tee off first as Mark stumbled over to a bench.
The greens keeper showed up a few minutes after the foursome had moved on. Mark was embarrassed by the weary look he got from the large black man.
"I'm sorry," Mark said. "I had a little too much to drink... You know..."
"I know, son. We see all kinds here," the large man said. "You get yourself into the cart and I'll take you back. Where are you staying?"
"The Atlantis," Mark said. "I checked in yesterday," he lied.
"Okay, we'll get you back there in one piece then."
Mark passed from embarrassment to relief as he followed a smoothly greased chain of infrastructure that was used to dealing with drunk and wayward tourists. Back at the hotel lobby with an ice pack and a bottle of water, he tried to smooth-talk the lobby clerk.
"Mark Thorne," he said. "I was supposed to check in yesterday when I arrived, but I got... um... drunk." He tried to smile.
"Yes, Mister Thorne," said the clerk testily. "I see your reservation and you did check in, but I'll need to see some identification. Your luggage is still waiting down here to be claimed."
"Yeah, that's the problem," Mark said. "I had my passport on me and can't find it." Mark patted his jeans and hoodie with one hand as if he was searching for something. He thought of something. "The casino cashiers know me. I stopped over there yesterday afternoon."
The front desk clerk looked bleakly at Mark. "The casino is run by a different company," she explained. "I need to speak with my manager. But he's won't be in until ten. Perhaps you'd like to take some breakfast while you wait?"
"Sure," Mark said although he didn't want to eat. "Breakfast was created by corporations designed to make you spend money on food," he said. He grinned broadly and chuckled even though it hurt a lot to do so.
The clerk didn't seem to notice. She was already absorbed in typing into her computer intently.
"Fuck me," mumbled Mark as he tried to find some place to hide in the lobby where the front desk clerk couldn't see him.
After a lengthy wait and several visits to the bathroom to wash up in increments, Mark was able to meet the manager who believed his story and gave him a room key to go to his room. His luggage was sent up by a porter. He took a much needed shower and examined the bump on the back of his head as best as he could.
As he came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, he saw his luggage sitting on a stand by the television. He jiggled the lock and couldn't open it. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," he repeated. He stormed around the hotel room looking for anything to break or pick the lock. He tried using the television remote, a three-ring binder, and a hotel pen to twist the hasp. Finally, he realised an idea and looked in the closet. He used the pointed end of the iron to twist the aluminum zipper tabs so they broke. He pulled opened the suitcase front flap and saw a pile of women's clothing.
"Fuck me in the asshole twice then shit on my head and piss in my ear," he said.