I was in this place, and I needed to get something to eat, for myself and others, those who were with me, and depending on me to do so. I went to all the different areas that were selling food, but no one paid any attention. I tried to flag down the staff members, servers who were delivering food to others, but couldn't be heard.
I tried to assess the situation, coming up with this theory: "Maybe," I said to those who were waiting, "it's because I've got this comforter wrapped around me and I'm mistaken for a patient,"
So I went to get something to wear. I had a store of clothing, new and unworn. I selected what looked like a dress, but it was a gown with a princess embellishment on the front. I knew it was too youthful, so thought of giving it to a grandchild. I looked at the tag and it was Size 14, so I knew that wouldn't work---I'd be gone before she got to that age.
I pulled on one sweater, and then another. They were too small. I couldn't even comfortably fit my arm in the sleeve.
I woke up hungry.
**The next night was different. I was in much the same type of place, with many people around, and, for some now unknown reason, I changed the radio to another station. After I found out, or failed to find out, what I needed to know, I left. The man in charge switched the dial back, glowering as he did so. Later Danny told me it was because he was listening to the latest sensation in broadcasting, Ed Cenci, the podiatrist with the white Afro. I felt embarrassed: I hadn't known. (I later saw him boating with my daughter, but I remained out of view, beneath a stairwell.)
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