The folks in the room were most varied he had ever seen. Some spoke to themselves while other ignored them, while a few trembled in fear and because their hospital gowns draped over them were a terrible excuse for clothing. The boy found his legs tapping repeatedly and didnt bother to stop. What do these people's opinions matter? Some people are angry. Some people are depressed. Some hate themselves. Some hate others. I'm just barely there. For ten days he only had himself, this assorted company, and his thoughts. Minds are left barren in that place, raped like a drunken girl at a party where there is no escape.