The Boil on Hargrove's Back
The rain started at 4 PM and didn't stop. Dale Hargrove sat in his clinic and listened to it hit the tin roof. The clinic was small—two rooms, a waiting area with peeling paint, an examination table that wobbled when you sat on it. He had been running it for twenty years. Twenty years of the same patients, the same illnesses, the same slow decline of a town that used to have a coal mine and now...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior