Chapter 3

           Thenewmanstandslookingaminute,togettheset-upofthedayroom.

           Onesideoftheroomyoungerpatients,knownasAcutesbecausethedoctorsfigurethemstillsickenoughtobefixed,practicearmwrestlingandcardtrickswhereyouaddandsubtractandcountdownsomanyandit’sacertaincard.BillyBibbittriestolearntorollatailor-madecigarette,andMartiniwalksaround,discoveringthingsunderthetablesandchairs.TheAcutesmovearoundalot.Theytelljokestoeachotherandsnickerintheirfists(nobodyeverdaresletlooseandlaugh,thewholestaff’dbeinwithnotebooksandalotofquestions)andtheywriteletterswithyellow,runty,chewedpencils.

           Theyspyoneachother.Sometimesonemansayssomethingabouthimselfthathedidn’taimtoletslip,andoneofhisbuddiesatthetablewherehesaidityawnsandgetsupandsidlesovertothebiglogbookbytheNurses’Stationandwritesdownthepieceofinformationheheard—oftherapeuticinteresttothewholeward,iswhattheBigNursesaysthebookisfor,butIknowshe’sjustwaitingtogetenoughevidencetohavesomeguyreconditionedattheMainBuilding,overhauledintheheadtostraightenoutthetrouble.

           Theguythatwrotethepieceofinformationinthelogbook,hegetsastarbyhisnameontherollandgetstosleeplatethenextday.

           AcrosstheroomfromtheAcutesarethecullsoftheCombine’sproduct,theChronics.Notinthehospital,these,togetfixed,butjusttokeepthemfromwalkingaroundthestreetsgivingtheproductabadname.Chronicsareinforgood,thestaffconcedes.