"Just humor him." The staff seemed more than willing to play along with one of the inmates. One who seemed to believe he really was a doctor.
The patient in question wore the same white coat that the doctors wore. He even wore scrubs. The only problem with the picture were the slippers; they were beagles. Not living beagles, never lived, just plush ones. On the white coat was a nice little name tag, hand drawn, reading "Dr. Simon." See? He was a doctor.
Dr. Simon, who would only answer to that particular name, followed the other doctors around, nodding when a diagnosis was made or when medication had to be changed. Now and then he'd suggest a different diagnosis or different dosage, and interestingly, not that the staff would ever admit it, he was usually right. Dr. Simon also saw patients of his own in the common room, or on occasion in the cafeteria, or sometimes, very rarely in their rooms. It didn't seem proper to go into a patient's room; he never ever closed the door behind him. Not even to just a crack. That was highly inappropriate.
So, there was Dr. Simon, sitting at a table in the common room, his clipboard in hand. He was ready for appointments. He only needed a patient.