I went to two doctors today, both for minor reasons. Both at Newport Center.
These doctors’ offices are full of very old, tremulously decrepit white men in cheerful retirement clothing. They’re in aloha shirts and khaki shorts and running shoes, slowly dying.
The parking lot has a very low clearance. This results in comedy with SUVs. One patient made it in driving a Suburban; another with slightly larger tires did not, providing a condensed symbol of the Californian relationship with cars and a satisfying crunchy noise.
The pharmaceutical rep in the waiting room was qualified as a fashion model: almost six foot, slender, leggy, cheekboned and coiffed. Thieves and murderers always send out the best courtesans.
I did not buy the pigurines in the pharmacy window.
5 thoughts on “Morning.”
I keep reading that as “pig urine”
FYI: my dad is a retiree in “aloha shirts and khaki shorts and running shoes, slowly dying.” We prefer to call it living. He may need a walker, hearing aids, and be fighting prostate cancer, but his wife is a fabulous babe and their home has an ocean view. Really, though, they could use a few pigurines…
Literary generalization not meant to refer to any particular person whether known or unknown to the reader. Poetic license, all rights reserved.
Fair enough. And really, he prefers “woody” shirts…you know, the ones with the the old wood sided Ramblers printed all over them.