“Hey…” Someone speaks gently. I follow the sound of the soft, soothing voice to the darkened corner of the room. Sitting on a cushioned chair, the man slowly stands and approaches the hospital bed. I squint harder, piecing together his features. A hoop piercing in his lip, barbells in his brow, a black dangly earring—I think I know him. The tattooed skull and crossbones on the tops of his hands seem familiar, as do the inked swords on his throat and wings on his neck. Why is his hair brown? “You…dyed your hair,” I croak, my throat raw.
