Most of the patients were waiting quietly their turn at the consulting room on the first floor. There were people of course that slipped carelessly forward taking advantage from the absentmindedness of those before them. The queue often shook with arguments but sometimes everybody just bowed their heads with resignation as when a fat, obviously quite intoxicated man with a superficial cuts on the belly and swollen nose elbowed his way to the door.
A man in his early twenties was sitting slightly stooped on the bench opposite the emergency room, his palm pressing his chest, his lips twitching nervously. His face was pale and haggard, the eyes darkened with pain. No one paid him any attention, and he paid attention to no one as well, because he had enough problems. He didn’t react when the fat men thrust past him although he wanted to very much. But his ribs hurt so badly that he wasn’t sure if he would be able to inhale enough air to curse him. Maybe a robust curse would have done a goo ...