Tonight was the night that something was finally going to go right for Drew.

Dr. Drew Process was the "top-ranked" therapist of St. Joseph Memorial Hospital, whatever the fuck that even meant at this point. As far as he knew, it just meant that he got to sit in a really high-up office, far away from any traces of humanity. There were no patients on the ninth floor, nor other staff; his only visitors were "special cases" sent to him from one of the lower departments, and even those were dwindling. Nobody had pity for him anymore.

Drew knew he was special, and he knew he was deserving of recognition. That was why he would patiently sit in his office every night, moonlight casting across his desk, and he would wait for the signs.

He found the best signs came from sleep deprivation. There was something magical about the state between awake and unaware, he thought, because that was when he would receive the messages. To keep himself in this state, he stocked his room with coffee and cigarettes and any other stimulants that crossed his path.

Over the years, Drew had built a collection of coffee mugs. This was much easier than waiting for anyone to come by to wash them. Not all of them were his, and nearly all of them came with pithy phrases; he treasured the few that were simply patterned. He wished, sometimes, to drink coffee out of a styrofoam cup like the God of Car Dealerships intended.

That's why, when he received an e-mail, he was certain it was good news.