Excerpt: To this day Professor Schwartz had lived out most of his comatose existence in low-security institutions that mirrored the appearance of correctional facilities; institutions that came in all shapes, sizes and could have even been, for example, churches, museums, or airport terminals at one time, or another.
The place Patient No. 112 now called ‘home’ was Grey Hall Sanitarium, an “all male” facility and former elementary school, a red brick with white trim building surrounded by a chain link fence and an impenetrable wall of shrubbery that kept the tenants of the surrounding housing project and inmates free from seeing, nevertheless not smelling, or hearing one another.
During our hero’s time at Grey Hall the former big cheese never uttered a coherent word, was often seen drooling and frequently just stared off into oblivion…something his former colleagues would have thought a sign of intelligence. There was no higher consciousness, no brain waves to speak of, just the mind of a primitive with those blank, blue eyes occasionally blinking; that goofy smile unexpectedly appearing then, just as suddenly, disappearing…and the stench…the reekiness of his countenance remained a constant reminder that it needed to rain soon. Whew!…it needed to rain REAL soon!