the liminal space of a basement waiting room

the liminal space of a basement waiting room

It’s hard to forget how hard these chairs are when all there is to do is sit and stare in space. The black tv teases from the corner, disconnected from its static. A man sits next to me with his hood up and his mask below his nose. As he tells me all about him and why we’ve both been cordoned to this waiting room. I must have one of those faces, where people see me and tell me all about their eyeball freckles. eventually, the hours turn to minutes and the seconds turn to days. as i sit in this waiting room and watch the nurses and doctors leave me behind. the man across from me is on the phone rudely speaking with his friend about the murder charge someone else is being slapped with it’s the most interesting thing ive heard in the two (four six seven) hours ive been here i think the walls are hungry as they get closer and closer wanting to scoop me into its beige plaster theres no way to resist the bathroom is not an escape as i sit on porcelain and wait for the handle to start to jiggle hunting me down to return to the room waiting until its finally my turn for a two-minute scan