-You hear what he did?

-Hear what?

-The office. What he did to the office.

-No. What.

-There’s three hundred copies of the patient’s diagrams–the ones where they can circle what muscles on their bodies hurt– there’s three hundred copies covering the walls.

-That’s it.

-No, man. Each one he’s written out all our names on the muscles. All our names on the muscles covering the walls. 


-It’s wild. Wild. 

-It’s December?

-Yeah. December.

-Last December he rigged the vending machines to give out pictures of his childhood home, polaroids. On the back of the photo he wrote out how to find a folder on your computer, and when you opened it there was this video, this endless loop of a kid running into his dad’s arms, over and over again, the dad just home from Vietnam or some shit and the kid just keeps leaping into his arms. Only over the kid’s head he’d pasted each of our pictures, all of em different for each computer. If you stood up whatever part of the day you looked over the walls you’d see someone watching this video of some kid that wasn’t him but had his face, now, jumping up into this vet’s arms. Over and over.

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