"I read something interesting about you in a magazine once."

  Howard Baker could not keep his yappy trap shut for longer than ten seconds.

  "You d.n't say, " Mikey mumbled with partial-deliberateness. Surprisingly, he had very little interest in this doting man's pitiful attempt at hero-worship. Even with his jaw no longer wired shut, he still had a hard enough time keeping his liquefied pees and mashed potatoes down with so many badly bruised organs, (not to mention the godawful taste).

  "I think it was Racing Quarterly. Said you once crossed a chequered flag with your wheel two-thirds off it's axel. Is that true?"

  It was indeed. Though he'd told the same bloated anecdote so many times, it felt more like a Brother's Grimm fairy tale.

  "Damn thing started to come apart on me a quarter into my victory lap. Another half-mile and I'd'a been toast."

  The irony became suddenly intolerable.

  For what felt like the first time ever, Howard Baker took a brief pause between badgerings and in the intermittent vacuum, Mikey suddenly found his interest rekindled. "So what exactly is your game Howard Baker? And do try to keep it to ten words or less."

  "My game?"

  "Yeah, you know, what keeps your engine running? Out in the real world, I mean."

  The pleasant fellow's good-naturedly demeanour took on an air of wry melancholy.

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  "I'm in real estate."

  "Real estate. No shit. I been known to dabble myself from time to time. What kind we talking? Commercial? Residential?"

  "Bit of everything, I suppose." And then he began to clear his phlegmy throat. "Gee Michael, I wonder if we might pick this up later. I'm suddenly very tired. Don't know what came over me." Still making a show of his cough, the man leaned back on his pillow. And Mikey eventually did the same.

  "Sure, anything you say." He obliged him, adding with an exaggerated yawn: "Sorry if its such a touchy subject."

  He let the apology dangle, most likely expecting a show of reciprocity. Howard Baker offered nothing.

  Not ten minutes later, his long heavy breaths graduated to melodic snores as Mikey lay awake listening, staring up at the ceiling tiles, counting the rows of dots in each one, to which there seemed to be virtually no end.

  * * *

  At some point he must have fallen asleep himself, for the next thing he knew, his eyes were adjusting to a sliver of light pushing around the impenetrable window shade.

  "Good morning, Mr. Howard. Breakfast time."

  The unplaceable accent of the day nurse interrupted the relaxing hum of the room's machine beeps and rythyms.

  "I'm not hungry," Howard Baker grumbled from behind the polyester barrier.

  The cold nurse persisted, "Doctors orders, last meal before surgery."

  Mikey's ears twitched as the tray slapped down on the table. "I said I don't want it." Howard snapped. Mikey took some comfort in the fact the man seemed to have a human side after all.

  "Fine, then you take it up with him," the nurse gave in to him at last, stomping her heavy footsteps out the door.

  Mikey waited till she was all the way down the hallway before sticking his nose in. "You never mentioned surgery." He pointed out bluntly, feeling the man's neighbourly veil instantly reappear.

  "Its no big deal really. Just a bit of fluid built up in my back," Howard Baker could be heard shifting in his bed. "A simple incision's supposed to alleviate the pressure. Should be up and about in no time flat." He paused, reconsidering his insensitive choice of words. "No offence, my friend."

  Mikey honestly couldn't tell whether it was meant as a dig or not. He was seeing a decidedly different side to his up-till-now insufferable bunkmate. At least he was someone to talk to. "So what's for breakfast?" he asked, hoping to get away from the sticky subject altogether.

  Howard Baker seemed to appreciate the small, but thoughtful gesture.

  "Hm? Oh, I don't know. Looks like more inedible scrambled eggs, and...cantaloupe, I think." The response came considerably uninspired. "Are you hungry?"

  "I thought I heard Nurse Ratchet say––"

  "Overprotective old bat..." Howard Baker muttered, his spirit climbing out of the doldrums. "It's all yours if you want it. I mean, of course...if you're able to..."

  "Thanks anyway." Mikey sulked. Metaphorically. His actual range of motion was considerably more limited.

  And who can say how much time passed between them in comfortable silence. Ten minutes. An hour. Maybe two.

  The privacy curtain lived up to its name.