The corridor.
One more thing about that day, because people always want the moment.
It was not satisfying.
I have thought about it a great deal and I would not have it again.
That was a paediatric corridor on a Wednesday afternoon. There were eleven people in that waiting area and two of them were children in wheelchairs, and one family had come out of a conversation I know the shape of.
And in the middle of it a man said the word infertile at volume about a colleague of theirs, and a bottle broke, and a lot of frightened people had to watch two adults have a divorce in front of them.
The sister on that floor is called Bernadine and she is sixty and she has worked there twenty-two years, and she got everybody moved and the floor cleared inside about ninety seconds, and then she came and found me in the sluice and said: “Right. Breathe.”
