of San Diego, and that I had a delivery at this convelescent home, that from the outside looked
just like a Pho (Noodle House) resturant, at the
ground floor of a 1940's skyscraper.
The home itself was down a hall through the
back of the resturant (which was part of the
home) and had this immense waiting room
(like a Kaiser Hospital) where there were all of
these senile people on beat up couches,
love seats, and cushions.
There were tons of old, tattered looking blankets
all over the floor, and it looked a little like the
furniture section of a thrift store if a group of rowdy
middle-school kids had been goofing around
and throwing second hand bedding at each other.
The senile people were all wearing funky
old-people polyesther outdfits, and mumbling
to me about the life that they imagined I have.
Some woman kept telling me she saw my
husband at the Safeways with a basket full of
oranges- I kept telling her I'd never been married.
These people kept repeating themselves and
were deluded I was someone else- a relative
perhaps.
I looked down and I wasn't wearing anything
but a sleeping bag.
I was desperately trying to distract them so I
could make a getaway, as I had a ton more
deliveries to make.
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