June 27, 2012
I got off the bus at the hospital today, found my way up to Kyla's room with little trouble. It seems as long as you have the name of the person, security doesn't care who you are: you could be the uncle, the boyfriend's brother, the best friend, whatever. As long as they can snap a burnt-looking picture of you for their data base. The sight of my brother around his new baby was a repeat of the scene about 2 years ago. A part of me wanted to hold on to the past, recalling cleaning empty doctor's offices.