“Make fantastic mistakes,” his father said, whispered it to him while a surprisingly semi-clad nurse fastened his only son to a brand new bed, “NOT TOO FANTASTIC THOUGH!”
Manny looked about the place, clearly ashen-faced, almost but not quite ready to pace the room, wondering how it was everything had come to this, a disappointing down-and-out who, try as he might, couldn’t quite side-step the deliverance of impending doom
Medication in the morning, in between all of the snoring, more that evening which is where he stumbled, fumbled upon a fella, name-tagged ‘Stephen’, who knew a thing or two about all the wrong kinds of things
Shared a smoke with an elderly woman who spoke as though her words had no place better to go than inside these walls
Then there was Paul, how can you forget Paul, a guy with a rather perverted eye for the ladies, walked the halls with a glorious erection, praying to God it would make an impression on the wrong kind of woman, he was all about inviting in the pain
All Manny could do was pray to the high heavens that this wasn’t going to turn out to be the place where it was at
‘Til he finally sat with that nurse, told her he had been a soldier, a martyr, that he wanted more than anything to drops the drugs, less about the whiskey, more about standing shoulder to shoulder when it came to his father

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