Day CCXCIII

The Waiting Room

       “It’s ova on Twemont Avena.”

       “Twemont an wat?”

       “Morris, dude, next tada pharmacy, man.”

       “Ya hea det, Morris an Twemont, next tada famacy.”

      He hung up the phone, slowly schlepped back behind the counter, got his keys, and

     “Okay dudio lets go.”

     “Howcha git hea diz moining, dude?”

     “Took a cab, felt too sick ta dwive, man.”

     It was an open clinic, you walked in, signed in, and when they came to your name, they called you. The place was full with lots of really sick peeps; their teary eyes staring at the walls, as they sat in folding metal chairs against the  walls; one next to the other from the entrance to the nurses station, on both sides of the room. We had to stand for a while, and as people were called, seats became available. The Funny thing is that most of them were smoking as they waited, today they won’t let you. You might even be scolded for just the thunk of smoking if you bring it up. Anyway, there are no smoking signs in the clinics, but not back then.

     “Yo Gus, we gon be hea fo a while, man.”

     “Yea, it sho looks dat way.”

     He walked up signed in, and waited for an empty chair.”

     There weren’t cell phones back then, so I had to go outside and find a pay phone.

      “Yo man, I gots ta make some calls, so I be right back…ya wants anything?”

      “Nah, man go on do watcha gotta do, Oi be hea.”

      “Okey doke, man.”

      “Yo, yo yo!” he whispered as I was on my way out the door. I looked back, and smiled.

      “Git da noos…da noos, man.” He rasped as I went out the door.