A woman sits in a wheelchair. Her red button down shirt overwhelms her; greasy, silver-white, windblown hair drapes over protruded check bones and sunken jowls. Grey sweatpants balloon as she sits, white cotton tube socks, with patches of pink, cover her feet.
“You took it Jack! I am not going to say it another time. You took it!” She tussles through her faded, torn black patent leather wallet. “You damn sure did, Jack!”
Jack, hunchback, dressed in a stained sweat suit, and torn shoes says, “No!”
“As soon as we are done her, I am going to leave you Jack. As soon as we are done Jack, I am going to leave!”
A technician opens the door, “Ms. Downs.” He pauses. “Ms. Downs.”
Jack gets up slowly, grabs hold of her wheelchair, and pushes her through the doorway. “I know you took it, Jack!”
Everyone in the waiting room lifts their heads. “I wonder what her story is?” an elderly man sitting next to me asks.
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