“Stop it!” Sylvia says.
“Who are you?” I ask. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you all my life.”
She stands over Sylvia. “You’re going to be living here, I presume young lady?”
“Yes.”
“Well, is she?”
“Yes,” I mutter as if into her one mammoth breast. Her dirty, frizzy blonde hair is an abomination. “She will live.”
“Well, if she lives here,” the nurse shakes her finger, “no screaming through the pie-hole.”
I stand up to the obese nurse and state, “What do you mean to the world exactly?”
“Buddy, I could put my fist right through your throat and even a T-rex couldn’t save you. Hell, even Manson would be giving me flowers.”
“You work here?!” I ask.
“Excuse me, Miss, is there somewhere I can get Sylvia some water?” Jessica asks, still sitting down.
“You gotta do intake. Intake, w
