'Before we go in,' I say. 'They might ask you to get your tackle out.' Gordon turns white. I smile inwardly; Gordon is a bit of a prick. There are two doctors. Both of them are smoking. I give them the SP - I'm just here to translate. They find Gordon's skinhead hilarious. 'Ask him if he's a Communist,' one of them says. I translate. Gordon is shitting himself - he's wondering what they'll do to a Communist with his prick in his hand. I close the door quietly behind me.
Author's note - perhaps there is one prick too many in this story.