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Some joked with him and some seemed put off by him, and they all spoke to him in condescending tones. And then there was the fact that comic strip they touched him just about every time they came in, which put him comic strip in a state of mind better suited for panic than for small talk. Pretty soon he began comic strip to dread the nurses. Isolation was better. Besides, he needed all that alone time to recover from being touched. What he needed was a distraction. He was never very good at escaping from himself without help. He tried the television, but it only got five channels. He watched the local news for fifteen minutes, Jerry Springer for twenty seconds, and finally settled on a soap opera. The characters were petty and silly and he couldn't figure out the plot, but at least it was fiction. One of the nurses brought him a puzzle book. He had trouble holding the pencil, so he reverted back to one of the tricks he'd invented way back when he was seven and people believed he'd never learn to write.
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