Pool_1

"You? The infallible? You, oh great one, have a boo boo to share?", Ivory was chiding in a way that was actually self depricating as every doctor has memories they wish were fiction. In medicine, repression is a sin. Sin is confessed openly at M&M, which some called misery and mayhem, with Milton Blake, the third M, as its priest. "See ya there buddy. Don't worry. No matter how bad you fucked up, Kathy has one worse." "Mmmm." But Macaluso wasn't really in this conversation, not at his core. Rumbles and fragments were everywhere. Mortality and Morbidity conference would definitely be well attended tomorrow. But tomorow was far away. Right now there was this enigma across the table as his concentration never left this closest friend whose demeanor was impermeability. There had to be a way in. Everything Sumner did, he did well, including sufocate himself. What Marcus mentally surveyed was that wall which Sumner had built, the wall which kept others out. Brick by brick. Stain by stain. The dead don't kiss. That was a puckered kiss around that cigar, wasn't it?