Has Beens and Newbies Have One Thing in Common: Scene Time

"Mr. Sandman?" the nurse called through the patients, looking from her clipboard. Sandman gulped, wiping his clammy, sweat-covered palms on his usual, black jeans and stood, walking to the nurse.

"Dr. Benzedrine will see you now," she smiled flirtatiously, leading the nervous man down a long hall. Sandman was ashamed, and has every right to be. The infamous dream dweller couldn't sleep

Mr. Sandman, was an insomniac.

He's tried for weeks, but could only manage to close his eyes to blink. He dragged his feet, following the nurse to a yellow door, golden name plaque clearly stating "Dr. Benzedrine". Once again, Sandman gulped, looking down to the end of the hall. Two other doors stood, still as the wood they're made of; one red, one green. He turned back as he heard the knocking of the nurse. He watched her knock once, twice, three times, then dropped her arm, waiting silently.

"Why only three?" Sandman asked, putting his hands behind his back.

"Knock once for the Father," the nurse held up her index finger.

"Twice for the Son," two fingers.

"Three times for the Holy Ghost." a third finger was raised before her arm was returned to her side. Sandman blinked back to the door, now opening.

"Suiteheart, who do we have today?" He was a strange sight to see, this man they called "Dr. Benzedrine". He wore yellow every place but his white button-up shirt and black bow tie. His lips were heart-shaped (painted on with a pink lipstick), eyes looking bored, but smiling, none-the-less. His top hat- though, too big for his head- was steady as he stepped aside to allow Sandman to enter his office. Sandman hesitated, but stepped in slowly, leaving only Nurse Blews in the otherwise empty hallway.

"Leave us be, Suiteheart. We have some work to do," Benzedrine winked at his newest nurse (the other had quite because of the doctor's cocky ways and shameless flirting) then closed the door, looking at Sandman with a light of fascination in his murky green eyes. Sandman was in a different state of mind. He was glancing around the large, bright room, dumbstruck. Everything in the room - the desk, the picture frames, the papers piled neatly on his desk - was a different shade of yellow, varying from golden-rod to canary, and everything between and beyond.

"Sit, Mr. Sandman. Sit," Benzedrine demanded more then offered, motioning to a large, lemon shaded arm chair, sitting slightly off-set in front of Benzedrine's mustard toned desk. Sandman sat obediently, sticking out like a snowflake in the middle of August. Benzedrine walked to his own chair, sitting down and folding his hands, grinning.

"What brings you to A.S.E., Mr. Sandman?" Benzedrine questioned, straightening a piece of paper on his desk. Sandman cleared his throat several times, fidgeting a moment in the patients "interrogation chair" before mumbling a barely audible, "I-I can't sleep..." Benzedrine had to strain to hear him, but, once the words processed, he chuckled instantly up to the ceiling. Sandman's face turned red in not only embarrassment, but fury.

"Dear Old Mr. Sandman, The Dweller of Dreams; the Creator of Counting Sheep; the Master of Taming Wild Two-Year-Olds cannot fall asleep?! You must be joking!!" Benzedrine continued to snicker at Sandman's unfortunate, but ironic, dilemma, until Sandman could no longer take it. He stood, storming toward the door.

"Some doctor you are," he growled, hand firmly grasping the golden door knob.

"I wouldn't leave if I were you, Sandy," Benzedrine called, grin still present in his words.

"I'm the only one who can help you,"

Sandman mumbled several profanities under his breath before turning back, face still a bright pink.

"Come, sit. We will talk like gentlemen-"

"If you can manage," Sandman snapped, crossing his arms. Benzedrine laughed once, suddenly glaring at Sandman. Sandman's high-and-mighty shoulders fell slightly, knowing his words would lead him straight to a headfirst slide into misery.

"Mr. Sandman, let me tell you something about myself. As your doctor, you should know at least a little something about me," Benzedrine began, putting his hands behind his back and staring out the window to the garden behind the glass.

"I am Dr. Benzedrine: best and only in the world, and only the best. I know everything that needs to be known; I know someone who knows someone who knows someone I once knew. I'm better than you in every way: Smarter, wiser, better-looking. I don't blame you for being you, whether you set your clocks early-because you know you're always late-or are easy to bend and break-which I am very much looking forward to- I suggest you respect me because my temper is very short-lived. Clear?" He turned from the window, staring at Sandman in all seriousness. Sandman slowly dropped his arms to his sides, moving back to the chair and shrinking a bit at Benzedrine's piercing eyes.

"Good." With that, Benzedrine clicked a button, telling Nurse Blews to get a set of clothes and a room for "our newest Suiteheart."

"Get out," Benzedrine exclaimed. "Tiffany will help you with anything you need." Before Sandman could say anything, he was dragged out by the nurse.