<strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">DAN RYAN, BED 6</span></strong><br/><br/>Dan groaned softly and clutched at his skinny belly, scarred from ineffective surgery, which was killing him, quite literally. He opened his yellow-tinged eyes, looked up, and forced a smile at one of his favourite nurses. Too bad she had to see him wasting away and bleeding out of his ass. He caught a sniff of her perfume and appreciatively ogled her breasts for a moment as she leaned close to adjust his pillows.<br/><br/><strong>"Hiya, Ginny Dee,"</strong>he greeted her with his rasping voice.<strong>"Looks like a beautiful day outside,"</strong>he nodded, sipping his coffee and wincing as he reached for a pack of cigarettes on his bedside table with his arm with an IV of morphine in it. Removing one, he casually smirked at the other patients of the ward as he enjoyed his privilege and lit it up.<br/><br/><strong>"Can you push me outside in a wheelchair later? As you see, I'm a sucker for fresh air,"</strong>he puffed, taking a sip of orange juice and reaching for a small steel ashtray with a lid that he kept hidden from doctors who weren't aware of his arrangement.<br/><br/>He felt a momentary stab of pain in his rotting guts, winced, sipped some more juice, and tried to eat some toast. Sometimes he managed to finish a whole slice in the morning, but his insides were  torturing him rather badly today.<br/>