HOPELESS by Robert Beveridge The more beautiful the nurse, the less chance she’ll respond to char. Bad enough they're made to serve that slop the kitchen calls a square meal. The first thing you tell the newbies is what, on that menu, is edible. Most of the time. You’ve heard the joke, you bite into the apple and find half a worm? Welcome to the wing. Art therapy, bad folk music, overworked doctors, and the same face. You hang around long enough, you’ll find you know all the regulars. Here beyond the airlock, only certain people thrive. After a day or so you will know them, seek them out, for they are your tribe. The delusional, the depressed, the neurotic, the beautifully insane. The ones who spend morning group in contemplation of the ghostly visitors to their room the night before, or those who spin conspiracies the way a spider spin a child when dosed with LSD. These will be your friends, your half-worms, the ones who make the beautiful nurses bearable.