Butterfly Stories

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It is by the activity of our passions, that our reason improves. . The passions, in turn, owe their origin to our needs, and their increase to our progress in science.

J.J. Rousseau, Discourse on Inequality (1755)

The phlebotomist rolled on white rubber gloves before she stuck him. When she asked questions for the case record, she looked right through him. When she was finished the doctor came in. The doctor was tall and muscular like a gym teacher. He didn't bother to shut the door.

Drop your trousers, said the doctor.

He looked at the door.

Drop your trousers, I said.

He dropped his trousers.

The doctor rolled on white gloves with an angry and disgusted face.

Doctor, do you see anything?

Take a deep breath, said the doctor.

The doctor slammed the culture probe up his urethra. He grunted with the sudden stunning pain. The doctor almost smiled.

Doctor, what do you think my chances are of having the virus?

How would I know? I don't know how you've been spending your life. What's more, I don't want to know.

Do you think I have a fifty-fifty chance?

You've been doing a lot of stupid things, said the doctor, writing something onto the chart.

He rose and flipped a box contemptuously down. - Have some condoms, he said. Maybe your wife can still be saved.