Wallace groggily opened his eyes when he heard a phone and then the receptionist take in the next patient. His hands were bound with cotton restraining straps tied firmly to the gurney. His mouth tasted fuzzy and his face stung badly from the fall. He figured he was here for stitching due the the amount of blood on his shirt. His head ached. He closed his eyes again. He remembered that bitch at the pharmacy… He remembered the spilled coffee, the blood…
If he remembered correctly he made it all the way to the subway at Gerrard…he saw the faded sign on the minty green tiles. He tripped at the top of the cement steps leading down to the depths of the city. He tumbled through a mob of hustling commuters, who tried to beat him to the turnstiles. Wouldn’t want to get stuck behind the unconscieous guy! Wallace thought, ‘at least I’m not in jail yet. ’ But this was far worse than any facility he has ever heard of. He was here.