Ten Minutes
A place of soft extremes.Gentle strum of guitar some days;Low conversationMuted coughsFlickering eyesFixed stares.One day the wild clang of a bellBrings all hands together in hope.Your name, called briskly,Summons you to the controlled zone for kind abuse of cells.Friendly staff ask the question nobody answers truthfully; a few seconds of small talk while you prepare.You climb aboard the hard…












