![]() ![]() He could have been there for one hour or five – time meant nothing. Eric had watched as they made ovals and esses and paisley patterns rising and falling, contracting and spreading like a small child squishing Play-Doh through its fingers. Bunching together, making a thick, dark mass – then spreading, creating a faint, grey cloud. They roosted under the pier, but for hours beforehand they swirled about in the air above. In the autumn they swooped in a huge group, making swirls in the sky. It was years since he'd last seen Brighton. But that's what had led him to this mess. He didn't recognise himself in the faces of his fellow patients. ![]() Each with a man of similar age inside, locked down by the bedcovers. Thwack! In reality he could do nothing but lie there motionless. ![]() This damn bed – in his mind he was whacking it with his stick in frustration. Wincing silently, still in pain, he took the little cup of pills and swallowed them with several gulps of water. Slowly he dragged himself into a slightly less slumped position. The restrictions of ill health and hospital life. The nurses all did their best, but there was never enough of them. He'd watched her, hours spent running back and forth with bottles and bedpans, the medicine trolley and the blood pressure machine. She must have been nearing the end of her shift. 'It's that time again, I'm afraid, Mr Robinson.' For him it was rock and roll and coffee bars. ![]()
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