Saturday, February 02, 2013

63.

All is beige. A nothing colour. I arrived in the night to an empty ward. Now as the morning comes they wheel through a patient. Clunk click and he’s in. I wake to his screaming litanies. They are biblical nonsense, the murmurings of a madman. How long until we put our crutches away and bury our gods.

62

Lombard comes in daily for his money and I run up and down the stairs like an errand boy to make it happen.

And it happens, everyday as they laugh about Old Lombard from behind their monitors and sign off their little vouchers and open the electric safe and take out the cash.

He takes off and spends his six pounds on smokes and cheap ale. Tomorrow he's back again.

61


‘Bad morning?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it.’