the hall walker slides along the wall one hand brushing the cheap paint his thin vacant face etched in a shallow gasping for breath caricature the hall walkers drifting steps are across the carpets patterns but no one objects his neat and clean golf pro outfit still clings to its filthy rich beginnings suede leather faces and the disdain they project
the hall walker has paused to announce his desire to be on his way to the blank wall a poster nearby grins down at his madness with a fateful message about condoms lest the madness spread no doubt he raises his voice but to no avail the wall remains ignorant
but we are far from alone me and the hall walker a stream of faces the tight lipped impaired people come in waves through the hall like a strange tidal basin of the medical world the floaters and driftwood the gathers of shells and thouse who seek to hide inside them still this odd place of the infirm
a dozen bent forms pushing canes and mounted on wheelchairs slowly fold the hallway with the repeated ebb and flow of their travels the low electric sound of their hover-rounds like meat grinders digesting a daily dose putter past in steady stream a nightmare vision of what awaits the hall walker stops to ponder the fate of his domain his hall is no longer his kingdom and they now shoo him into rooms or out the door rather than let him walk the line between dark and light that is the way the world decides
the hall walker pressed his golf shoe into the soft dirt of wet night and smiled clean and real recalling the scent and releasing his grip he follows the young nurse to bigger and better halls to walk the wall