Life: A Sentence

Red-Blood-Cell

He’s almost an hour early for hemo/oncology, waits with a coffee and the other early arrivals, watching the lab coats come and go, counting the turns of the lab’s revolving door, and attempting to calculate the likelihood that his particular marble will fall on either red or black, odd or even, hoping that when he’s finally released it will still be Spring and he will have failed to hit the jackpot once again, can stop one more time at the bookstore’s café for a second cup of coffee and a couple of macaroons, can bask in all the tentative reassurances that modern medicine can offer to an iffy, aging scribe.

 

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