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A tiny spider was loitering with intent in the corner of the window. A spider with a Napoleon complex, not deigning to spin a web but hanging around on the insect street waiting to prove that he could beat the shit out of a fly with his bare palps.
“It is a hospital, but it has only one kind of patient. People who have tried to look into the future in order to try to save the world and have been driven insane by it. The worst kind of insanity, Adam Dearden. We’ve all been sent mad by grief.”
Dickson appeared from nowhere like the world’s shittiest elf,
