We got a call from Water's Edge, a rehabilitation center in Trenton whose name to us means neglect, filth and the end of the line. Our definition is not unfaithful to the facility itself which is nowhere near the shore of the Delaware River but just adjacent to the stadium for the losing Trenton Thunder. The Thunder is what you'd imagine: a patched-up team in a patched-up town that has been on the decline since the Industrial Revolution. The residents of Water's Edge have a view of the flickering "Trenton Makes The World Takes" neon sign affixed to the bridge crossing to Pennsylvania. Otherwise they lie in beds in silence interrupted by siren shrieks. It is the place from which "Mr. Bertucci" hails.
"He looks harmless," I told my student "but he's a recipe for chaos."
"He's snoring," she said.
"Yup," I said.
"He's missing both his legs," she said.
"Just wait," I said.
As I'd predicted, once we reversed Mr. Bertucci (not his real name, but he holds a similar, gangster-in-an-alley appellation) from his narcotic coma, he became unruly. He became, in fact, a bed-pooping, swearing, misogynistic invalid. I tried to be patient, but my student was ducking wads of sticky excrement and my co-workers were asking me if I needed security to stop all the yelling coming from his room.
I'd had it. I ripped off his sunglasses (he wears them all the time). I took his Yankees hat. He screamed and screamed at me and reached back to grab more poop.
"Oh no, you don't," I said and grabbed his arm. "You do that and I'm confiscating your necklaces," (no shock, Mr. B. wears multiple heavy gold chains upon his hairy chest.
"You wouldn't!!! Give me my medicine or I'm leaving!" he screamed.
"You took too much already," I replied. "Plus, I'd like to see you try to get out of here."
