Sunday night, sneaking creeping pain, misery, worry, the usual depressing rolecall. Walk along the anything-expectant road, wet leaf fall paranoia, made a painsmashed ribs agony worse after a nine-day-ago dark road tumble. Swoosh of autodoors, step inside casualty, note assembled injured numbers, fairly full house tonight. Oh well, here come the uncomfortable eternal melting wasted hours. Check in, sit down, blue uncomfortable medical seats, no sleeping here. Ha, as if. Idle wondering about other folk's stories. Fat woman with broken left leg in wheelchair, stookie straight out in front, right leg raptaptapping out a staccato ouch beat in nervous tuneless rhythm. Shift warily in chair, don't wake teeth-clenching pain. Woman and man in 60s straight across one seat to the right, facing, her with bloodied hanky held to mystery skelped nose, intertwined with concerned I suppose husband, maybe contrite over domestic violence lash out, maybe fear over random wife fall head bleeding, who knows. Can be looked at any way. Called to get cursory middle-aged male nurse triage appraisal, unwind actions and symptoms and worry, wouldn't be here if it wasn't nine days later and the pain was getting worse, sympathetic nods and approving hospital visit appraisal. Back out to the bored agony-throbbing crowd. Blue seat, tedium recommencement. Slow slide into warm-room slumber. Place is like a strange abstract fever dream, Jacob's Ladder and Tim Robbins' descent into the gory blood-splattered knowing hospital walls Hell. But this is far from the Vine Cinema on Hollywood Boulevard in 1990, this is right now, sweltering drowsy flailing trance, ten minutes seems like an eternity or no bruised time at all. Random names called out, house, bingo, broken legs eleven, some lucky winner in the NHS treatment lottery whose name number came up is off to see the wizard, the wonderful diagnostic and curative wizard of bods. Fast-seen therapeutic hope dies by the demoralising ticktocking minute and hour. Nosebleed's man's hand circles in slow soothing meaningless hieroglyphs on his wife's thigh, surely be home soon, doll, ready to wake up from this painful medical nightmare and sleep happily in our own bed again. Grinning and laughing black-clad youngsters couple of rows across, bored carry-on, guess the trauma isn't very bad, never is when you're young and indestructible. Shifty guy lying stretched out on his side wearing headphones on his woollen hat, regarding everybody loftily and airily like the Queen of Sheba reborn into lowly unpampered Scottish circumstances through some cosmic administrative error. The cold electric sun beats down unblinking ceaselessly, sending illusory double shadows spilling out among the blood and pain and boredom and despair. Faces staring at the floor from where consciousness has crept away somewhere more welcoming, far from this frowning time and place. Hope dribbles away like ice on a slowly sunny winter morning. Worst fears are confirmed or denied definitively to perfect relieved gasps. And on and on, a life-draining trance, the unmoving red entrance sign beaming in the rainy windy night attracting all the special bleeding weekend moths, flying in to queue for free ecstatic salvation from anything and everything gaily hurting living, a name echoes out that sounded like quarantine, where we'll all be trapped in amber until our own get out of agony jail free card is handed to use and we head out the door into the night or morning cool inimitable air of tranquilised release smelling of fireworks ghosts bonfires and painless freedom. Until the next time.
Sunday, 25/10/2026, 23:52
THE END (when I get out of here)
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