...a wave of detergent flew inside the room. Smelling of fabricated health in pharmacies. It took him by surprise, and made him instinctively lower his cigarette in the tray. His brain and stomach murmured together in riot. A piece of paper slipped from his fingers. "Diana". And then some random numbers. He liked the feel of desecrated paper. The mold of carbon lettering rising defiant from a bed of hospital white.
The note would make a good bookmark. But it was not the sign he was looking for that day...
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