The Vienna sausage was lodged firmly in Edna’s throat, her life flashing before her eyes, as the thought occurred to her that dying was a lot like thumbing through Time.
Rory was big on signs and the headlines on those magazines were very, very clear: “turn back the clock”, “defies reality”, “Time”, “experiment”…and most tellingly, “Rory’s Moment”…she settled in the chair, smiled, and waited to be transported back to that day she wished to re-write a hundred times since.
As she waited in the lobby for her next therapy session, she stared at the stacks of magazines almost neatly placed and noticed that Sports Illustrated seemed to be picked up most; she guessed the story of Robin Williams’ depression and death was no longer relevant, as she felt her life was and she thought ‘why am I even here?’
He stood there beside the credenza–misanthropic, indifferent–staring at the magazines, which attempted to sum up humanity.
The selection of periodicals was cold comfort for Henry’s first visit to the proctologist.
The wealthy old man often left lottery tickets tucked into the magazines in the waiting room; his own personal random act of kindness.
As late as her doctor always was to see her, she was surprised to see how much Time he seemed to have on hand.
It was their third date, but her first time at Hank’s apartment and in his bathroom, and while she wasn’t sure what to make of the lifelong bachelor’s reading selection, she was certain she would not be sleeping with him just yet.
It was the odd selection of magazines rather than the strip mall location and unprofessional staff that finally clued Edward into the fact that he was probably in a sub-standard Sperm Clinic.
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