Had a brief encounter with the state of mental health this week. Or, more appropriately, it had an encounter with me.
I’d dropped in to pick up my comics for the week and was the only customer in the store, when the escapee from the mad house arrived. Complete with little plastic hospital bracelet and a white gown that laced up the bag, the new arrival muttered something neither of us could understand. Jase just said; Nah, mate. Can’t help you.
And he happily toddled off again.
You’d think that someone somewhere would be missing this guy, but as we didn’t see anyone with large butterfly nuts, perhaps it was just an exercise in integrating the patients back into the community.
Just one more bloke doomed to wander the public transport system, eternally pestering passengers who are trying to read in peace.
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