Was in for physio today, carrying my new copy of American Gods by Neil Gaiman. On the way out, I was struck by the feel of the hospital corridors. NUH, not quite sterile and blue-flourescent kind of look/feel/scent. In fact, the scent of the place, while mildly antispetic, has a distinctly floral undertone, nothing like SAF medical centres. A full day there leaves you with a aromaticallyaudible scent you can detect at 10 metres. And the lighting is homely, a composite of authentic sunlight and orange-yellow walls that turn the flourescent light into something like the warm feel of tungsten-light-bulbs. Nevertheless, there's a kind of lifelessness about the place, a feeling, not of people recovering into the full bliss of life, but of people waiting to die.
Then again, what I read in Gods, resonates. It's some quote of an old quote, but it rings..
"Every hour wounds. The last one kills."