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Summary
“I know you think I am crazy, but you have to agree that it kinda looks like Mel.” The words had been spoken barely above a whisper by Dennis Whitaker to his friend/roommate, Trinity Santos, as they stood in the nurse’s hub. Apparently, neither of them had noticed him approaching them from behind, Langdon mused. He watched as Whitaker held out his phone so Santos could look at what he was showing her.
“I still think you’re crazy, Huckleberry,” she scoffed. “Or, maybe your long sexual drought is causing pornographic hallucinations.”
Now this conversation had piqued Landon’s interest. Why on Earth were they talking about Mel and Whitaker’s apparent lack of sex in the same conversation?
Santos grabbed Whitaker’s phone from his hands with the precision of a sleight-of-hand magician and held it out for Langdon to look. She gave a little laugh, and with an evil smile, she explained. “Oh, our resident pervert here found an OF account that he thinks looks like our own little Mel-ancholia.”