I woke up in a bed today next to beeping moniters and bags of juice dangling from what looked like very expensive clothes hangers, looked down to see my body was bruised and red and swollen with sores, there was a nurse washing my groin with a damp washcloth that felt like sandpaper. She looked up at me when I twitched and looked as suprised to see me as I was to see her. I tried to speak but couldn’t. She tried to speak but she couldn’t. Her name tag said Flo. I wanted to buy her a drink and a slice of lemon pie but I couldn’t even manage to ask her what she thought about my boy parts. She ran out of the room and came back with a team of doctors and nurses that filled my room. They poked and proded at me, they spoke but their voices sounded metallic and it hurt to listen to them, the one doctor, the guy I assumed was in charge, after all his name tag said Dr. Charles, had one of those headbands with the metal discs on the front that made him look a bit mad, he wrote on a giant white board “Can you read this?”, I nodded yes, he erased frantically, “You were very badly hurt” he wrote, I nodded yes, after all it was apparent I was in a hospital and my bed sores were evidence that I was here for quite some time now. “You were in a coma” he wrote, I stared, he erased, “This is the first time we’ve seen your eyes” he wrote, I stared, he erased, he looked at a calendar, “Its been 143 days” he wrote, I cried, they cried, he erased, “A car ran a stop light, and hit you at about 67 miles per hour” he erased “you were very lucky” I looked at him as if he had three heads, because according to my vision he did indeed, every now and again appear to have three heads. “The damage to your body is restricted to” he wrote and the pen began to fade as did my vision, I remember seeing Flo’s nametag rushing at me, thrusting her hands toward my head just as the black spots crept back over everything. It felt like doing heroine in public bathroom stalls.