[from here]

The hallways had the normal ebb and flow of traffic now. Time had hung suspended at apogee for a long moment, while he had slipped down the halls between flashes of a strobe light. Now it was more disco at the roller rink, with flashlight flickers chasing each other down the halls.

The pill bottles were still rattling. He stopped to perform a minor adjustment. The sheaf of paper he'd tucked in his back pocket fluttered out as he squatted. Good going, S.T. You had all day to write these up, and now you're scribbling directions in the dark. Some day, he'd stop procrastinating the necessary paperwork. Some other day. Maybe eventually they'd be able to do it all via computer and save trips up and down the stairs with the recycling.

Whatever. It needed to be done, since not everyone would actually listen like Javert had. He pulled out a pen and started doing the greatest-hits version of the emergency services/poison control hotline crib sheet. In the neatest handwriting he could manage under the circumstances.

[Unwittingly waiting to be run into by Spider Jerusalem, open for threading in the interim.]