THE LIEUTENANT OF INISHMORE
By Martin McDonagh
PADRAIC
James Hanley, don’t keep going on about your stupid fecking toenails! The way you talk it sounds as if I took off a rake of them, when it was only two I took off, and them only small ones. If they’d been big ones I could understand, but they weren’t. They were small. You’d hardly notice them gone.
If I hadn’t been such a nice fella I would’ve taken one toenail off of separate feet, but I didn’t, I took two toenails off the one foot, so that’s the only foot you’ll have to be limping on and not the two. If it hadn’t been the two you’d’ve found it a devil to be getting about. But with the pain concentrated on the one, if you can get hold of a crutch or a decent stick, I’m not sure if the General Hospital does hand them out but they might do, I don’t know. You could phone them up and ask, or go in and see them would be the best thing, and make sure them toes won’t be going septic at the same time. I didn’t disinfect the razor at all, I never do, I see no need, but they’d be the best people to ask, sure they’re the experts. You’ll probably need a tetanus jab too, oh there’s no question. I do hate injections, I do. I think I’d rather be slashed with a razor than have an injection. I don’t know why. Of course, I’d rather have neither. You’ll have both by the end of the day. What a bad day you’ve had. But, erm ... I have lost me train of thought now, so I have.