meehawl

all that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned

Underground Surgical Vignette

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Every time I find myself the recipient of one of these late night phone calls, tramping through some back alley behind another dark abandoned warehouse… Stuttering another secret password… Entering another hastily constructed operating room… Scalpel in hand, performing another indescribable procedure… I see another pair of eyes… By now in the hundreds… Staring… Whenever I try to sleep… Another member of an unenviable audience… Asking a painfully simple question for which I have no answer… Why… I can no longer bear their judgment. I leave them here… On the table… As I scribble my signature on the confidentiality agreement, I leave them to their fate… I say goodbye…

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