I"m in a cage, but it"s not a cage that you or anyone else would recognise. The door, beside which I sit, is not locked and nor do the two windows have bars; nonetheless escape is impossible. Escape will always be impossible for me. The room is spacious, painted a motley cream with its workaday appearance intensified by the featureless hard wooden settles fixed to three walls and the unrelated magazines scattered untidily along their lengths. There is a policewoman sitting opposite me who every now and again looks up from her chosen reading material and stares as though I"m an oddity in an exhibition. I stare back. It"s all I can do, other than think. I"m thinking now!
I"m not reading. My nurse is reading. She"s calm enough to, whereas I"m not. I"m not sitting on those benches but in a so
