You look around this hospital, you see the doctors. All men, swaggering in and out of the rooms really fast. “I’m important. I have a pen in my pocket. I look at a chart. Hmm, good chart. I sign the chart. I am God, and God can’t hang around. God has to be in the gallbladder wing in five.” But spend a few days in the hospital, and you start to notice the nurses. The nurses never rush out of your room. They just clean out the bedpans, draw the blood, insert the suppositories. They don’t get to sign a chart. They don’t even get a pen. But they hold you while you cry. So, what does this mean? Are women more important than God? What if we discover one day that we were always the ones in charge? Just, no one told us.
THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL | How Do You Get to Carnegie Hall?
It’s a genuine killer’s lair. That’s a thing? Please don’t get him started. A lair is an extension of the killer’s psychosis. The root cellar in Psycho, Kevin Spacey’s apartment in Seven, Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen. I mean, every fictional killer has one. So he’s been living here? I highly doubt it. No, this looks staged. I mean, you see lairs on TV, not in real life.
