[2024:44] The physical therapist at the V.A. is angry with me, Ron Riekki

for being late. I tell her there was traffic. There was, but
I’d had a panic attack, didn’t want to tell her I’d had a panic

attack, so I speak of traffic. She’s short with me, has me
do stretches while looking down at me like I am taking up

her precious time. Across from us is a twenty-something
with one leg. The curtain is closed so I can barely see in.

I look away, at the building through the window that looks
like it is haunted by a thousand kind-hearted ghosts.