No one tells me why I’m here.
They just… talk to each other instead. I catch pieces of it. Low, careful words. Things are being written and slid away. When they do speak to me, it’s slow, like they’re trying not to startle a horse. I arrive on a Wednesday. A nurse mentions it twice. “Wednesdays are good for intake,” she says. I don’t know what the hell intake means, but I don’t ask. I don’t wanna be here. Everything in this place smells like disinfectant and cigarette smoke. The walls are green. The furniture is green. All of it is so, so green. I wonder if they chose the color or if it just ended up this way over time.