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HOME NEWS ORDER INFORMATION CATALOG FEATURED AUTHORS SUBTERRANEAN ONLINE MAGAZINE ABOUT US FEEDBACK Fiction: Clinic by Kris Nelscott The clinic always has an eerie silence right around midnight. It’s not empty–Lord knows, the place is almost never empty–but at midnight, everything seems to stop: even the speed freaks slow down for thirty seconds, maybe a minute, an eternity to them. Me, I look up from whatever I’m doing, and take note. Usually I’m filling out paperwork, or settling someone into the calm center, or cleaning out the bathroom for yet the thousandth time. It’s not glamorous work here–hell, it’s not even good-paying work–but it’s gotta-be- done work, if you know what I mean. I’ve been doing the midnight-to-three shift six days a week since January. I’m not a doctor, not yet, and I’m barely a nurse. Kinda like one of those paramedical personnel that the papers talk about, although technically I do mostly secretarial work. All the girls do more secretarial than anything, although sometimes we get to assist on the more difficult stuff. I want to do hands-on, especially the tough stuff, but I’m not really trained for it. Although Doc Clahorn |
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