Clinic Evening Hours, Nov 15th
*DEATH takes a seat at the desk, a huge pile of addressed letters behind him. There is a pen and paper, writing itself, next to him. DEATH himself is addressing an envelope.
There is a basket of political buttons on the desk, with a rubber duck on top of them.*
DEATH is in. He's like a doctor, only he can tell you truthfully that you're not going to die. So, come in, bleed on him, chat with him, engage him in riddle or play a joke on him. He's lonely. Or would be, if he had glands.
There is a basket of political buttons on the desk, with a rubber duck on top of them.*
DEATH is in. He's like a doctor, only he can tell you truthfully that you're not going to die. So, come in, bleed on him, chat with him, engage him in riddle or play a joke on him. He's lonely. Or would be, if he had glands.