Pool_2

quizically, holding it up to view anew, "Mmm. Well... it looks like a CP hand." And they both exploded with laughter all over again. Mina got further mileage by wondering what proctologists wore. Circle pins! "Great salami. Great salami. Mmmm," smacking his lips, "Gotta boogie, babe. Gimmie a kiss." Right in the middle of a juicy smooch she burst into another fit of laughter. That humor lasted all the way to the hospital. He was smiling as he rounded the corner. He was smiling as he entered the parking area. He was smiling as he locked his car and strode to the doctor's entry. He was even smiling as he stood momentarily in front of the closed outside door, placing his key in the electronic door controller - until it opened. So what charged the air inside that in rushing out bathing his face, so changed his aspect? Was it the air at all? Or was it an inner reality reasserting itself. There was no raven, no croaking frogs, but just the entry way before him, looking as it always had looked. It had painted cinder block walls, a cork board riddled with pinned notices of office suites for rent, cars for sale by owners, newspaper clippings with underlined sentences to draw attention to political issues gone astray, notices of lost items, schedules of meetings and events and occasionally warnings of suspensions if medical charts were not finalized and signed by the six day plus Thursday cut off. All bullshit. It wasn't any of that. It was that short upgoing stairway that had always been there. He stood oblivious to the rest, confronting it in the doorway seeing the rise as if for the first time. Stairs. Ascent, initiation, steps. Steps of moderation, steps of justice and benevolence, steps of the cardinal virtues and mastery - self knowlege. Anyone else, today, would just see stairs. Somehow, standing before them, he saw that something was wrong. Mind was superimposing warnings on everything. Morning rounds felt