The doctor was young. Too young. She looked pale and frazzled, as if really she was the one in need of hospital rest. The skin beneath her eyes was tinged with purple and she gripped my chart with unsteady hands, studying it like the script of a play she was aiming to memorise. Her lips moved as she traced the words.
‘You were in a motorbike accident.’ she glanced up, her spectacle lenses magnifying her bloodshot eyes.
–Chris Ewan
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