"Elizabeth Lynn - The White King's Dream" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lynn Elizabeth A)

Helen was waiting for him at the nursing station. "Let's hope he doesn't end up like Harold," he heard
her say. Who the hell was Harold? The nurse at the desk was old and stringy, on her way to looking like
that senile crock down the hall.

"Hi," he said, smiling. "I'm Mark Wald, the new night shift orderly."



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Graveyard shift was a breeze. The old crocks wheezed and cried and slept. The aides took turns sleeping
in the bed in the back room. Mark read paperbacks and sucked on his bottle of bourbon. The other night
orderly was an old fag named Morton. He liked playing cards. Mark preferred to read. Morton sulked
and played solitaire at the nursing station desk.

"Who was Harold?"

Morton looked up from putting a red queen on a black king. "Oh, it's you."

"Who the hell else would it be?"

"Harold was the dude before you. Black and built. Younger than you."

"He was a fag, too?"

"The word is faggot, sweetie. No. Straight as they come, if you'll excuse the phrase."

"What happened to himтАФhe get tired of this dump?"

Morton looked up again. "No, sweetie. He ripped off dope from the narcotics box and OD'd on it.
Morphine, I think."

Now why should that Helen even think he would be like some blood who needled himself to death? He
hated drugs.

"Su-i-cide, they called it," said Morton.

"Huh."

"They come and go. I've been working here five years, you know that? Only Helen's been here longer
than I have." His hands kept placing the cards. He had soft, pudgy hands.

"Helen said this place is a rich people's dump."


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 The White King