“hmm, I see. Well, I don’t know what exactly you think I can do for you.”

“…do for me? You’re a doctor! Do doctorly things!”

“Pills? Is that what you’re here for? You want some Vicodin? Oxycodone? You know I can’t do that. Enabling addicts is of course, highly against the doctors ethical code, not to mention illegal.”

“I’m not an addict! I don’t want pills! I just want some help with this.”

“I’m sorry sir, I just can’t possible help someone like you. Drugs are not the answer. How about rehab? I can get you into some kind of program. How would that be?”

“Pro…PROGRAM! Jesus Christ man! I have a fuckin’ NAIL sticking out of my FOOT! I don’t want drugs, I don’t want rehab, just TAKE the FUCKING. THING. OUT!!”

“I’m going to leave now sir, when I get back I trust you will not be here. I have other patience to see. I don’t want to have to call the police.”

“Mother Fucker! I’m not a druggie! I’m just that grimy!”

Naught have I seen a scene as so;
A book, a body and a piano forte.
Splattered in red, a scotch half drunk,
And one little page drifting down to the floor.

It seems that someone didn’t like Chopin.

What is this I hear?
You’re breaking up with me?
Do you really think that’s going to happen?
…
What, what are you going to do? Walk out the door, walk down the street, hop on a bus, then what? Huh?
You’ve gotta come back sooner or later…you can’t get away from this mirror.

You can’t ever get away from this face.