Even logic where your heart's supposed to be. [ He hover over the flower, as he fumbles through the contents of his pocket. Cigarette. Lighter. Colorful change. Band-aids. ] Some might call that a defect.

I think it's refreshing, personally. [ There it is-- a fold-out pocket knife. He withdraws it from his pocket, opening the blade with aslish-click. It gleams against the yellow hospital lights. ]

How much do you need?

[ He drives the blade hard and sharp into the meat of his palm. Blood starts to bubble up from the wound. ]