visitors at the entrance of the hospital A. are accessible through the avenue and controviale, we must be careful to pass cars that come in thinking, but you must dispose of certain air of the stripes is a test of strength, we must not be intimidated by the headlights.
You enter a narrow ramp, under a roof, you need to stop to let people down, two people struggling to pass time.
The first reception, once passed through the gate onto the ramp, is the smell, acrid smoke that permeates the walls and stucco on the outside wall, the smell of the concerns, grief, resignation.
And then you come in and there is a disinfectant. The disinfectant
guides you through the corridors fifties, for that gray solid that leans on the walls, the windows with white frames, smooth floors, the stairs to the elevator, climbing around on the steps always gray.
hospitals are all the same, except the newest, that are modern, sterile, devoid of history and fear.
Even the corridors of the departments are all equal, all the nurses in the uniform of cotton, white clogs, her hair matted, physicians serious and worried.
And then there are people.
Other.
Those who see you and you never will, those from which you turn your eyes because you invent a shame it really is the fear that you will not happen anything like that, as if the sight of the transmit.
And the others are relatives of other inmates, they're there, eyes and marked the concern in his hands, waiting, always.
A visit, a report, a drip.
I do not like the hospital A.
I do not like any hospital.
I do not like to be another.
You enter a narrow ramp, under a roof, you need to stop to let people down, two people struggling to pass time.
The first reception, once passed through the gate onto the ramp, is the smell, acrid smoke that permeates the walls and stucco on the outside wall, the smell of the concerns, grief, resignation.
And then you come in and there is a disinfectant. The disinfectant
guides you through the corridors fifties, for that gray solid that leans on the walls, the windows with white frames, smooth floors, the stairs to the elevator, climbing around on the steps always gray.
hospitals are all the same, except the newest, that are modern, sterile, devoid of history and fear.
Even the corridors of the departments are all equal, all the nurses in the uniform of cotton, white clogs, her hair matted, physicians serious and worried.
And then there are people.
Other.
Those who see you and you never will, those from which you turn your eyes because you invent a shame it really is the fear that you will not happen anything like that, as if the sight of the transmit.
And the others are relatives of other inmates, they're there, eyes and marked the concern in his hands, waiting, always.
A visit, a report, a drip.
I do not like the hospital A.
I do not like any hospital.
I do not like to be another.
