When Rodriguez first visited McManus, he had already quit drugs, on his own. But he was still living as if he were homeless. His apartment was covered with soot and grime, the bed had cigarette burns and the refrigerator held moldy food. McManus was treating his apartment like it was the street. “How the hell are you living like this?” Rodriguez blurted out.
“You’re a doctor, for God’s sake! You’re supposed to be helping people, not making them worse.” McManus shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just got used to it.” Rodriguez shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to be helping people, not making them worse.”
Translation: “You’re a doctor, for God’s sake! You’re supposed to be helping people, not making them worse.” McManus shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just got used to it.” Rodriguez shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to be helping people, not making them worse.”
 “You’re a doctor, for God’s sake! You’re supposed to be helping people, not making them worse.” McManus shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just got used to it.” Rodriguez shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to be helping people, not making them worse.”


Translation: “You’re a doctor, for God’s sake! You’re supposed to be helping people, not making them worse.” McManus shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just got used to it.” Rodriguez shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to be helping people, not making them worse.”