She's a Rejector

God, I hate hospitals. So maybe strictly speaking this moldy dump isn’t a hospital, but whatever, it still reeks. The walls too white, the people too cheery, the vibe too much like death. And that woman . . . God, that woman. Does she not know she’s eighty-five freakin’ years old? Parading around in those belly shirts and hot pink pants like she’s a spritely young twenty-five, thinking she’s my best pal. If she wasn’t my dad’s mom I wouldn’t even waste my time here. But she’s all I have to know him.

It’s such a beautiful Saturday and I’m stuck inside this place, wasting a sexy outfit on a building full of old people. Why doesn’t her ward have any hot attendants? I can’t even have a smoke here! Decrepit ancients really suck. They should go . . . get younger.

Why is that guy looking at me like that? He’d be cuter if his jaw wasn’t on the floor. However, his pathetic awkwardness is somewhat attractive . . .

“Close your mouth, dude. Didn’t your mama tell you that’s how you catch flies?” Giving him my best sultry leer, I began to approach him in my leather boots once more.

And BAM there’s shit all over the floor.

His cart is turned over and half the bedpans are broken. Piss is spreading across the tiles and smushed turd is stuck to every surface available. My nose is screwed up from the overpowering, foul stench and gingerly, quickly, I step through the mess into clean area once again.

Smirk in place: “Have fun cleaning that up.”

I’m gone.