Four dull walls of dreariness and gloom filled with anxiety and unease as the infirm bide their time sitting and reading old magazines, listening for their names: their turn to see the white-coat practitioner.
A sterile and indifferent space, unconcerned for the outcome of its occupants. A despondent place of wounded bodies and aching souls who are fully aware of their deficits from the well and the fit.
Bundles of mixed-up emotions buzz in the stale air as the ailing scan the room, sizing each other up in order to measure their own condition, evaluating their insides against the visible scars of someone else’s outsides.
A chamber of inescapable reality, no place to hide from sickness and disease.