Eddie pushed the mop over the mix of blood and vomit, splattered over the linoleum tiles.

One of the inmates, no, patience, he always had to remind himself that these psychos were patience,

had swallowed the head of a bick razor. Five orderlies had held him down while another forced fingers down his throat until he heaved up the thing.

Eddie had watched the fiasco. He had stood shaking his head. He didn't give a shit about that

lunatic, but he knew he'd be the one cleaning up the mess. He'd pushed mops in the loony bin

since he was 19, and he was 65 now. At least he thought he was. He didn't bother counting.

He plopped the now-red mop into the yellow bucket, pressed the handle down, and watched the liquid as it squeezed into the old tub.

He dunked the mop in the pink water and dropped it back into the pile of blood vomit.

God damn it, he said.

Nobody heard him. The place was damn near empty at this hour. The maniacs were locked in their

cages and the doctors were at home, tucked into bed with their trophy wives. It was him and the

night watchmen. He didn't mind them much.

Three good old boys from around the panhandle, but still, he wasn't much for chit-chat.

How these kids, everyone under 40 was a kid to old Eddie,

got hooked into this mess of a place he couldn't imagine, and he wasn't going to ask.

Eddie heard the clang, clang-clang of an overburdened keychain coming down the hallway.

Speaking of the devil, the watchman with the satellite dish ears stepped into the doorway and watched Eddie sliding his ancient mop across the floor.

Shit, Ed, what happened? Big Ears said.

One of the space cadets sucked down a razor.

God damn.

Yep.

Big Ears stepped back into the hallway, and Eddie heard his keys jangle away.

...