Bizarro Patient Zero

By the time my second hospital stay came around, my arms looked like that of an errant junkie who missed the cut for “Work of Art.”  One evening, after a series of unsuccesful punctures, they called in a pro.  The Badger noticed his name tag and inquired, “Fluffy Bunny?”  Nurse Bunny, a slightly-built gentleman of a certain age, nodded and said “Yep, it’s real.  A birthday present to myself for my fiftieth.”  He nailed a vein in no time flat and bade us a pleasant farewell.

A couple of nights ago, while waiting for our pepperoni pie (Nino’s on Avenue A - quite decent), Badger gleefully tugged on my coat sleeve and stage-whispered “It’s Fluffy Bunny!”  And I turned and saw a slightly-built gentleman in a down coat and scrubs walking down Avenue A enjoying his slice, after a long day adeptly venipuncturing.

I mean, where else would Fluffy Bunny live but the East Village?

I get the feeling that the Bunny’s been through some shit in his life, but now he’s OK.

Happy New Year, Fluffy Bunny and all.