“…Zolpidem, lasix…”, she leaned her heavy body against the counter and speaks quietly to the woman behind the frosted shoji style windows, of which the center has a noticeable assortment of plastic sheet covered papers, some brightly coloured, two in simple black and white and yet others sternly highlighted. A wide bright red cloth with staggered white flowers covered her thick body like a tent, but decorated. Black long pants with slip on shoes, her toes barely squeezed through, the backs of her dry cracked bloated feet hang off the end. Her checks blended with her neck, plum hewed and scaly.
“What’s your date of birth?”
“10. 2. 71, I stopped taking my allopurinol in October because I thought the doctor told me to and my nephrologist wants me to see what my chart says…”
“But I don’t know if I miss heard him…”
“Says here that you should be taking it.”
Her question answered the red draped woman turned to the left and faced two doors, one with a large white sign with red lettering signifying Exit, above the door another Exit sign , this one lighted behind red plastic. The other door a bit set back had two signs, an almost matching Exit sign but stating Not An Exit and underneath a taped to the door black and white paper aggressively highlighted in a preternatural bright yellow, an explanation that the door used to be unlocked but from hence forth it will remained locked until you are invited through.
Her out turned feet make their way, her upper body jostles back and forth with each step to the door with the Exit sign on and above.
