Pick-up Cells ②

I frowned the moment I perceived the word 'pick-up.' It's something I'm not fond of. Everything before my eyes turns gray. That math problem that's sure to follow—'will it be a percentage?'—I hate that, don't you? The salt concentration in a human body is 0.9%, yet the problems usually involve high concentrations. It's not like we're in the Dead Sea; 300 grams of salt per liter? If this were brown rice, eating two liters a day would make me Kenji Miyazawa, but it's salt, after all. Just thinking about it raises my blood pressure, and I can't even win against the rain. By the way, may I try a 'pick-up' on you? There's a South Asian-style cafe nearby that serves a dessert that can also be a main course without rice, consisting of a bread-like side dish served with cream and fruit. After all, it has 'pa' in the name, so it's efficient. What time do you finish work, Mademoiselle Yamamoto? Oh, excuse me, I heard your colleague call you that earlier, and we little gray cells didn't miss it.

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“I see, so this is the patient who calls himself a great detective and keeps hitting on our nurses, including my girlfriend. What kind of spiral structure is this? I’m genuinely curious.” At the doctor’s signal, the only elderly nurse who hadn't been spoken to injected an anesthetic into the IV tube.

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