“It’s oppressively hot and standard fans line the aisle, plugged in by the beds. The beds line the ward, most with curtains drawn. Just that thin nylon of privacy. It’s the sounds that get you, though. The sounds are enough to drive you mad. It’s not what you see but what you hear.
The plastic chairs have been arranged out in front of the ward television. A special treat. Like children, we are allowed up after a certain time, (they say it’s vital we have a Routine); but they’re letting us watch the concert tonight, in the ward. There was a vote. I’m sure there are those who don’t want to hear it, but the world doesn’t work that way. That’s the problem with sound, smell, smoke. It reaches other people.”