It’s funny, because I don’t know. So they’ll never know. So they might as well give up and give him back to me, bring him back to me.
Maybe they’re keeping him in here. But I can’t look desperate or they’ll know that I’m itching. Maybe a quick glance over the room would be ok. Four sterile walls, no colors no stains. One door, wood. No windows. High ceiling? Yes, also white. Left corner, camera. One table, two chairs, steel. One unoccupied.
He’s not here. Where would they hide him? Maybe I should tell them what happened. Because, after all, I need him. Wait stupid! You learned already! You learned how to in your mind so that if something like this happened, you wouldn’t panic and you wouldn’t itch so much. You can do it in your mind. Begin with the first page and move your fingers. No! not on the table, under, on your knees, so that they don’t see you and know that you’re itching too much. Look straight ahead, don’t let them know you’re doing it.
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