Paul “was it my fault?”

Paul was the child’s area of a hospital waiting room, small table with red&green plastic chairs, a fingerprint smudged television, monopoly & chutes&ladders missing pieces, his yearyounger sister playing cards with him, jacket under the chair, gum wrappers, empty water bottles, broken crayons, his crazy eight hand was poorly stacked, mostly drawing multiple cards drawing multiple cards until a play, until Aunt Lori’s name is called, the windows don’t let light in they reflect fluorescents each large pane a mirror back into jumping jittery legs, seating shifting positions, pretending everything is okay, draw again, draw again, shoes echo on tile, doors open automatically, fingernails disappear, a colouring book half filled.

Paul was “Where is that drunk? I need to talk to here about nearly burning my house down.”

Paul was & then there was a “verbal altercation”

Paul was holding four cards & Uncle Mike came in.

Paul was crazy eights in the waiting room with sister Loraine.