They roam the halls like Roman senators draped in multiple hospital gowns and blankets. One gown in worn with the open side in front and one in the back. Sometimes they have a blanket draped over one shoulder. These men are psychotics with hangovers. They have crashed in one way or another.
Maybe they snuck out of their nursing home storage unit for an illegal substance party. Maybe their disability check ran out and they selected three hots and a cot rather than homelessness. Maybe they got into a fight with the ER doctor who was trying to tend to their bar brawl wounds. Maybe they announced to some authorities they were going to kill themselves then tested positive for illegal drugs.
The older staff know these guys. They mumble their diagnosises as they stomop, float or shuffle by in the hall - the borderline, a schizoprenic, and the guy who had a stroke because of a cocaine overdose. "Whenever I talk to Agileus (not his real name, of course), I feel like I am being attacked by a swarm of bees," I tell the nurse. "That is a mark of a borderline, he is looking for your weakness. Don't show him any because he will drill into you with it."
Agileus is a spontaneous motion machine. He quickly paces the halls stopping only to check to see if the storage room door is locked, to lean into the nursing station to grab whatever is within reach, to close the emergency fire doors or to lob a drive-by heckle at the group therapy sessions. When he does something dangerous, like close the hallway fire doors or take a swing at another patient, they give him a shot to make him sleep. At a normal dose, he does not sleep, he simply continues his hyperactivity in slow motion and slurred speech. At a heavy dose, he slows down and and eventually drops where ever he is when the shot kicks in.
