...Or Die Trying (To Stop Writing After Midnight)
House groaned, his hand twitching towards his blazer pocket, where a full bottle of Vicoden and his Game Boy rested. He glared at his latest patient, a tall, pale guy who was wearing sunglasses.
“I am Dracula.” House blinked at that.
“Level Four’s the psych ward. Or go left of the clinic, that’s the
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