Having dreams, and flash backs of the recent surgical fun. So I'm lying there, and there's this guy in a faded "Guns 'n Roses t-shirt, and an old chefs hat with his arm up to the elbow fishing around in my guts.
With his free hand he's chugging down from a jug of "Wild Turkey". He notices I'm awake, and sez, "...How ya doing there sport?" Before I can answer he gives me a swig of cold whiskey saying, Here ya go...cures all that ails ya!"
A few shots spill into my open guts to which the "Chef" Sez "...don't worry 'bout that it'll help clean shit out in there. The anthologist whom I hadn't notice till then falls over.
...he goes again" sez my chef.
"Our pal her like to take his work home if ya gets my drift."
I looks around, and the surgical theatre looks like a "Clean Room" at NASA. to concerns me. I'm wondering if they has plans for me. Ya know some sort of covert "Old sick Black guys in space program".
Before I can ask some guy in an ancient Imperial Chinese Ming outfit comes in banging a gong,...some other fella playing Jimmy Hendriks riffs on guitar.
Hey ya can't make this shit up folks.
Anyhow over the crackling speaker there something about how it "Opium Break". That, and the whole crowd of doctors student, and tourists that was hanging around all spilt through a four foot high door off to the side there.
My Chef call back saying the procedure would "keep" till they all stumbled back.
I felt reassure, and passed out from the pain.