kit car tiff holland We made wooden cars from kits and played croquet on the lawn in the park next door to the hospital. It seemed foolish to me, the croquet. We were all heavily medicated, and those mallets are heavy, but we were glad to be out. I remember, the grass seemed so very green after the flourescent lights of the ward which turned things just slightly blue and were on all night so the nurses could keep track of us. Outside, we chain-smoked and walked in little circles and lost our balls. None of us knew the rules, not even the aide who checked us out, and after a while, we got tired of the fresh air. We weren't used to it after all, and it seemed odd that no one was watching us, not really, not closely. I mean, we were a danger, each of us, to ourselves or others, and we knew it. So, one by one, we headed for the door; we leaned against the door; we attached ourselves to the side of the building like little Velcro balls on a piece of felt. After a while, it was like we were holding the building up, and we were almost afraid to go inside.