I am drinking coffee and eating a Dutch biscuit (neither worth photographing, but still). Opposite me is sitting a man who is sporting a white face mask and reading the Bible (in Korean). On top of and in addition to this, he is coughing loudly and regularly, and something is gurgling deep inside his chest cavity.
If you do not hear from me again, it is because I have contracted tuberculosis and am in a sanitorium in Austria. There, I will languish elegantly in front of an open window with a view of some mountains; occasionally my male nurse, Hans, will come in to 'tuck my blanket' around my lower body, and offer me a delicate tisane fashioned from mountain daisies.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE
7 comments:
Sanitarium. Austria. Tisane. Got it.
'...mountain daisies.' I love it!
It sounds like exactly what I need. I'll come visit you.
Tuberculosis has never sounded so glamourous. I love it, dahling. In the meantime, tell that bastard to back the eff up! Or offer you a sterile mask also.
Will Hans gently croon you to sleep? And then when you've wasted away (all elegant and pale and stuff) will he place a simple mountain daisy between your withered little paws allowing a single tear to trickle down his chiseled Austrian visage? Because if not, he's a totally rubbish tuberculosis nurse and you should definitely import a canoing Canadian pathologist instead.
Will Bach be playing gently in the background at the Sanitorium?
I totally want a Sanitorium. Maybe the asthma I had in New York would be enough to get me admitted?
Post a Comment