poured out before bed
“Hey, can you show me where room 3622 is?” A middle-aged man in stained denim stands before me, both hands in the air. “I hear my buddy is in here and I can’t find his room.”
As she hustles past to a nearby room a nurse interjects, “There is no room 3622. They end at 3620.”
“Oh really? Well his name is Larry. Can you help me find him?” he stares blankly at me, stands just a bit too close for comfort. I take a step back.
“What’s Larry’s last name?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“How do you know him?”
“We smoke together outside the place we work at. Hey, maybe he’s in 3620. HEY! Hey Larry!”
“No, no sir, that’s not Larry. Come with me to the front desk, please – they should be able to help you.”
“No, that’s OK, I don’t want to bother the desk. I’ll just try all the rooms. LARRY! Where are you, buddy?!” he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts down the hall.
“Oh dear. Oh, sir – sir, please come to the desk with me so we don’t disturb the other patients.”
The man uncups in hands mid yell and stares at me inquisitively. “Are you sure? I don’t want to bother anybody, ya know?”