Adele has taken to staring through my window. It's annoying. I asked her why once and she said that she'd decided to be my Guardian Angel. That is doubly annoying. Maybe it's nice that she wants to watch over me, but it's frankly a little ridiculous considering that so far the other celestial pigeons have seen fit only to bless me with their cosmic shittings.
I once heard that Ketch's nurse tried to give him a antihistamine shot but he backhanded her, grabbed the needle and stuck it through his own tongue. I'm sure that's not true. Someone told me that he taught Katie Burroughs to make a bong out of a coke can and a water bottle and then tried to shank her. I don't think that's true either. I heard, while eavesdropping on the anorexics, that he is fucking his therapist. I really hope that isn't true.
I had an appointment with Paul today. He's my doctor. He is very, very green and I don't like him much. He only got the position because the old one got stabbed through the eye with a pair of surgical scissors by one of the sociopaths. It's still not entirely certain how they got their hands on the scissors, but after the guy impaled Dr. Campbell he tried to cut off his own ear. This is a weird place.
- Good morning, Dylan.
- Morning, Paul.
I sat down in the chair opposite him, his desk between us. The chair is a deep maroon leather, seriously concave in the seat from being in this office too long, and dull and worn down on the arm rest. The wood was slightly splintered. As I scraped my fingernails over the barely-there polish I figured out why.
- How are you feeling today, Dylan?
- Fidgety. I have a headache. I would like my phone back.
- You know why you've lost telephone privileges, Dylan.
- Calling that triage nurse a chubby bitch was just honest. She knows it, so does everyone else. I didn't mention her shocking body odour or thatchy moustache.
- Dylan...
- It might have been rude but come on, having her work on a ward full of starving women is not going to help, is it? She's not exactly a shining example of a curvy but beautiful woman. She's a troll. She should live under a bridge.
- Dylan!
- And she talks too much. She makes me sick.
- DYLAN!
- Yes?
- You're not helping your case here.
- I think it's ironic that you spend all of your time teaching pathological liars to tell the truth, but when I do, I get punished.
He went quiet, which satisfied me. As I said, green as fucking cabbage, that man.