Medical Center in College is right in a world where that adjective says a lot. When you open the door I leave behind a perfect autumn afternoon with decorated red leaves, smooth pavement of Avenue of the Incas and composé sky. Chocaré anytime from the dome of Truman Show. I climb the stairs. I'm sleeping while I wait to call me. At the same time feel a slight discomfort to verify that the bodies ambulanes look at me as if he had escaped from the Garden. The best medicine is not coming or the checkup, I say, but wake up from sleep faster. I look at something like a Roman bas-relief is to inspire reverence for arcane knowledge. It then opens the door and a medical clinic right as I called by my name.
I collapsed on the couch and give him time to sort their cards without speaking. After one minute of silence. I think: if I say "well, do you walk past, get up and go. In all this time I can not think anything revealing to say who is not tired, who would not have trouble sleeping, who does not have stress. I stare at the ceiling moldings. There are boxes scattered on the table medications, drug names ending in "X", the smell of disease. Exactly one year ago was the subject of Mexican flu, now even that. The doctor looks up and asks:
- Well, do you walk past?
I retreat to the basement Eighteen of myself and tell some banality about tiredness, the stress on the bed. I look at myself, what a jerk , I think. I take the pressure: ten-five. I say, I was sleeping. He takes my pulse, fifty-five. I anticipate, I speak of bradycardia, is the sport, that's fine. He looks and pauses. I look with particular care. I am full of papers and prescriptions. I am a patient absolutely in order, and so begins my descent into the coffin.
Outside, the afternoon is just a little brighter, maybe slightly cooler. The afternoon is correct.
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