Hello. You must be a doctor…and this must be a hospital.
Oh! What did I do wrong? I must have murdered someone! That’s it! But who?
I’ve known so many strangers in my life. I must have killed them all!
I guess that’s why I don’t have visitors.
Your honor, I’m sure I have some sort of doctor or therapist —
Unless I killed him too.
Is this a hospital?
Are you a gentleman caller?
Is it day or night, it must be one of the two?
You ARE a Lawyer and you’re defending me. You’re a defense attorney.
Please tell my doctor that I didn’t mean to kill ALL of them—If he’s still alive.
You’re honor—allow me to appeal to your common sense and aristocratic good will.
You ARE a Southerner…Aren’t you?
We ARE in the South…Aren’t we?
This IS a hospital…Isn’t it?
I CAN count on your strange kindness…Can’t I?
Why is everyone staring at me!?
If looks could kill I’d have killed everyone by now.
And I guess I did.
Which brings me back to the subject of visitors your honor…
Robert Goldstein <c> 6/2/93