Out at the nurse’s station, I see Gay Chuck Berry sitting back in his chair, his green Giorgio Brutini faux alligator dress shoes not dulled a bit by the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Joe,” I say humbly, “I need to get a razor and some shaving cream or soap or something.” I am still trying to be on my best behavior to all the staff so I can get out of here as fast as possible.
He looks away from me as usual. “Whacha need that fer?” he asks the ceiling, suspicious.
“My skin–I have bad eczema, seborrheic dermatitis.”
He finally looks over at me, annoyed. “I’m from Alabama, sir.”
“It’s a kind of rash,” I say.
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