Milkshakes in Purgatory

Hospital Journal, February 13, 2026

I don’t recommend being sick, but I do recommend reading The Telephone Booth Indian by A. J. Liebling while you are sick. In the early years of the American Depression, there were men (so far only men) who hustled along the long boulevard that is Broadway, especially around Times Square. In many ways, these men were visionaries who ended up running a series of circus sideshows with so-called freaks, but mostly lived in their day-to-day despair and somehow swam in the juices of small failures. I have not finished the book, but it is perfect company for the issues I have to deal with while sick.

I’m back in the hospital for round two of chemotherapy. As mentioned, I noticed I was losing strands of hair on top of my head, but I’m far from bald. When I pull at my eyebrows, some hair comes off as well. As I write, I’m in my hospital room watching the chemo drip into my arm. I’m always expecting something dramatic to happen, like throwing up my lunch — which was delicious, by the way. The food here is so-so, but once in a while, there is a surprise among the mediocre. I had my first beef hamburger in twenty years, and it was amazing. I’m afraid the burger will be a shock to my delicate system

The problem right now is that I need to eatfood —lots of food. I’m thinking of lining up on my little table here: a strawberry shake, a vanilla shake, and a chocolate shake. By hospital standards, I’m allowed that many milkshakes. Usually — and for a long time now — I was pretty much a vegan, but I have become a meat-eating being bordering on a sexual obsession with all food. When I go on Instagram, I look at food. People are stuffing themselves with food, but lately, I have become more discerning about what I watch on that platform. I like to see chocolate ice cream poured into beautiful dishes, or mixed with cookies or other flavors of ice cream. Rarely do I see anyone actually eating ice cream; it is mostly served in what looks like a very expensive kitchen or in elegant restaurants.

The other obsession I have since I got sick is “Angelllboys” on Instagram. They are a total mystery to me, and I think they are the closest thing to a Gilbert and George of the 21st century. While I was brain-dead scrolling Instagram for food, I came upon them shopping for chocolate at the most expensive candy shop in London. They very much look like AI human figures doing a version of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, taking place in the lobby of a very expensive hotel. There is a “let them eat cake” approach to life here, with the thought that being a dandy may be the most dangerous position in this sad and sorry world. Whether they are real or fake doesn’t matter to me; it’s the surface image that I like a lot.

So I came back to the hospital for round two of chemo and was told to be in the lobby at 8 AM. I didn’t get my room and bed until 3 PM. Seven hours watching the walls dry in the hospital waiting room. I kind of wish I were sharing my room with the Angelllboys.