An empty head and a long afternoon do not happy bedfellows make. If they were to mate they would shortly sire this moment in a flash pregnancy and everyone would be disturbed by the utter plainness of the baby - neither boy or girl. Sexless as a worm. The doctor (me) would shake his head imperceptibly and put down the tongs, the billow of his breath warm against his face mask.
But then there are always intruders - they elope around the fringes of vision. They are thieves of silence and attention I am unwilling to give. Neutral, boring and alike. Unless ugly, foreign or beautiful in a difficult way; to say 'I really shouldn't like you but I can't help it.' Or something acerbic like that. Drifitng conciousness like a slick of oil, the call of someone. Plaintive cry. Irritation. En masse. STUCK!
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