April 5, 2008
The nap is waiting for me, sitting in one of those uncomfortable chairs in a nap waiting room. He folds his arms and crosses his legs. He picks up a magazine and sighs. Leafing through the magazine, he stops momentarily at an article, and then tosses the magazine aside, uncrossing his legs. I must be busy. He checks his watch. I should have taken him up a half hour ago. He watches the man playing with the four children on the rug on the other side of the room. The man is over his head. He is playing for show.