It wasn’t as I recalled it. Back then, you’d be lucky just to get a seat. And you always knew you’d be there for at least an hour. It was a curious thing: the bowl full of lollipops. It’s as if you’d go to see a pulmonologist and notice him taking a drag on a Winston.
Doctor Spag would great you with the visual equivalent of a bear hug. He’d remember about your kids, details too, and that you were sick. No weather or how-bout-them-red-sox.
But I stepped in and was alone there. Coats no longer competed for the overburdened rack. Doctor Spag’s greeting was less a hug and more the faint wave. Lollipops gave way to small packets of waxed dental floss.
I looked around the room and wondered where the coats all went.
We proceed toward this.