Sunday, May 25, 2008

98 S. Duncan

Setting: Dank, acrid, below ground-level apartment - the air is thick and smells like a combination of sweat, rust, and fish shit.

Upon handing a young lady her prescription, she says to me:

Thank you! You are so nice!

And after the door is closed, I overhear her saying to someone else in the apartment:

Yay! I'm not going to die of hypothyroids anymore!
I bet that is pretty exciting.

1 comment:

Unknown said...

Samuel, you may not remember me. My name is Elizabeth (maiden name Milton) and I just happened upon your blog after reading Hunter's great piece on fashion week (even with the 'photogs'). You Slaton's are quite the fiesty bunch of tongues, I'm learning!

When you were a wee lad, I used to babysit you and Carrie. My feelings won't be hurt at all if you don't remember me. In my opinion, I was a terrible babysitter. But, I certainly remember you. You were great. Carrie was bossy. That about right still?

I see the pen runs in your family's blood.

Anyway, just wanted to say hi and that I CAN'T BELIEVE you're in college. We are in Fayetteville too so if you ever need anything, please let us know. Ah. You must drive a little red car for Collier's, eh? I'll be looking for ya...