It was not an existence, really, to pass one's life on one's back, with a pin all tied up and as stiff as a sausage.

Ah, he certainly knew the ceiling by heart; there was a crack, at the corner of the alcove, that he could have drawn with his eyes shut.

Then, when he was made comfortable in the easy-chair, it was another grievance.

Would he be fixed there for long, just like a mummy?
Nobody ever passed along the street, so it was no fun to watch.

Besides, it stank of bleach water all day.