Entering the waiting room, everyone leaves a vacant seat between themselves and the next patient. Until it becomes so full, that late arrivals squeeze into the in-between seats, trying not to touch the patients next to them.
I gaze at the floor, everyone avoids eye-contact, each alone with our own thoughts.
an empty jar
of Vick’s vapour rub
© Martha Magenta
Narrow Road Literary Journal, Vol 3, December 2017, page 60
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