“You can’t smoke in here! This is a hospital” the nurse snapped at me, although I hadn’t even lit the cigar.
“And?” I asked. “You don’t seem to have read ‘The Magic Mountain’?”
The gruff reply “We have a strict anti-smoking policy!” did not respond to my question in any recognizable way, hence I decided to abort the discussion before it had properly begun. A smug smile was the only reward I could muster for the lack of literary education of the medical staff, before striding away through the long corridor, in the direction of the far too small garden of the far too prohibitive hospital.
There I recognized what the sad creatures in wheelchairs, grey blankets, and with tubes leading out of them and back into them needed. Tomorrow I would bring a whole box of cigars.