Though Bob was not unfamiliar with hospitals, having visited his father at work on occasion, they still made him nervous. Maybe it was the weird disinfectant smell, or the fact that not all of the patients left alive. Either way, the hospital was not his favourite place. He didn't even know what he was doing here. After all, recovering from a heart attack or not, Krusty still wasn't his favourite person.
When Bob entered Krusty's room, the clown looked like his usual grumpy self, so at least that was something.
"Krusty? How are you?"
"Fine," Krusty muttered; he then took a furtive look around. "Got any cigarettes?"
"Uh..." Bob patted the pocket where he kept his cigarette package, then looked at the "No Smoking" sign. "You really shouldn't smoke, especially not here, and in your-"
"Enough with the preaching," Krusty interrupted. "You gonna give me one or not?"
Bob tossed the cigarette package to Krusty and shuffled out. He'd never seen anyone less thankful to be alive. Maybe he should have just let him expire on the stage...
The first thing Bob had to explain to Cecil was that they did not hand out menus in prison. That really should have gone without saying. Bob wasted no time in listing the do's and don't about prison life, but Cecil simply laid down on his bunk and turned away from him.
"I don't need your help, Bob. I'm no longer a little boy."
Bob tugged on a lock of his hair. "Cecil, I'm only trying to do my duty as an older brother. This prison is full of people who wouldn't hesitate to harm or take advantage of someone like you. You should feel lucky that-"
"I don't need your help, Bob," Cecil repeated. "That time has long passed. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep."
Bob scowled and glared at a fly crawling along the season. Why did everyone have to be such an ingrate?