Life is a terminal illness
An icy chill blew through the open window, so Detective John Mearns went over, closed the window, and returned to his seat in the doctor’s office. This room felt like a second home to him because of the number of times he had visited the Aberdeen hospital over the past year.
“Hello John,” said Dr Khan, as he entered his office reading information off his V-pad.
“Hello Doctor,” said John in a broad Scottish accent. “Good news, I hope.”
Dr Khan sat down, sighed, shook his head, and told the old Detective, “I’m sorry John, but there was no change. Your liver still is not working properly. You need to continue with microdialysis.”
The detective patted his side. “Och well, it looks like I am stuck with yee,” he said to the miniature electronic box inserted betwee
