by Kate Delany Adam Hamel Back from the ICU, the bleating machines, the gray faces gathered around my sister’s bed before attempting sleep, I’d arrange three glasses before me on the kitchen table, as if setting up dominoes: several jiggers of vodka with anything poured over top, a beer, a shot to stopper in the stupor I craved. But if it didn’t take right away, I’d lay in bed, pinned like the cockroach my sister once caught scuttling out of our Barbie case then tacked to a b