The Halls

Every other week, Stuart goes in for a shot of psychotropic medication. The clinic is in Gresham off the max line in a 1970's building, very retard chic. There's cushioned chairs that have seen their days of struggle and urine, freak-outs and hysteria. The woman behind the plexy glass are nice enough. I stand in front of the speaking hole while my client lurches over into my bubble. We wait for her to fill out the slip and he speaks to me soft and low, “Welcome to the halls of medicine, where you come in feeling anxious and leave feeling relaxed.”