Tum Thax

"Hello!" said the man hanging above me.  Metal prongs speared the shoulders of his suit and penetrated the spongy surface behind.  "New fellow, eh?  What're you?"

"Pardon?"

"What are you?  I'm the grocery list.  Been here years; he always buys the same things, you see.  What'd he say when he pinned you?"

"Oh.  Um.  'Doctor's appointment.  Seven-thirty-eleven-fifteen."

"Ooh."  The grocery list sucked a whistling breath.  "You're a short-termer, for sure.  Pity.  You have a nice face."

"What happens to short-termers?"  Beside me, a monstrous thumbtack pierced a skeletal ribcage.

"Best just try to remember that message," the grocery list advised.