e much interested in the three latest recipes for better brownies, he thought to himself, maybe Anesthesiologist's Monthly would have been a better choice.
The seat which he had inhabited was vacant, the indention his presence left now little more than a memory on the vinyl. If he could feel his legs, he would know they were tired. They were sick of pacing back and forth, to and fro; they would be begging, please, can we sit? can we just sit? He ignored them, however, for his mind was elsewhere.
The green gown he shambled around in could have, under some circumstances, symbolized the promise of life, but the sickly fluorescent lighting turned its color into something less than desirable. The garment, which was now completely unnecessary, was as forgotten as the matching slippers he had been given in order to witness the hallowed event.
There had been no pretense when the situation began to go wrong. There had been no time for pretense. He was instantly escorted outside. After a few minute