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Seventeen Days on a Locked Ward

Nurse Robert leans over me just after I settle into my chair and start writing in my journal. He has a habit of sliding his five-foot-four frame just close enough that I can see the lone hair curling out of the mole on his forehead. It’s near the end of his shift and musk is radiating off of his body. I wrinkle my nose and slam shut my notebook. The fluorescent lights reflect off the shine of his greasy brown hair.
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