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Fifty-Four Year Old: Gaynor 2
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Odilo Unverdorben x

I moved forward, out of the blackest sleep, to find myself surrounded by doctors … American doctors: I sensed their vigour, scarcely held in check, like the profusion of their body hair; and the forbidding touch of their forbidding hands – doctor’s hands, so strong, so clean, so aromatic. Although my paralysis was pretty well complete, I did find that I could move my eyes. At any rate, my eyes moved. The doctors seemed to be availing themselves of my immobility. They were, I sensed, discussing my case, but also other matters having to do with their copious free time: hobbies, and so on. And the thought came to me, surprising in its fluency and confidence, fully formed, fully settled: How I hate doctors.

Martin Amis  ·  Time’s Arrow: Or The Nature of the Offence

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