Five metal wires burrowed into his eyebrow. Just shy of bursting an old wrestling scar. Red every where. Toucan shorts, bid thee farewell. Earlier times. Memories as he lies there concussed, stoned. It was not clear . it was all so sterile and rushed and hello this Dr. I can’t pronounce your name a hundred times. He had never seen so much of his own blood before. Poor kid. Six. And that’s also how many vials they took. He had never seen so much of his own blood before. The poor kid. He got so confused. Mom and dad I don’t understand why are they taking so much—and only…it’s a test…a very important test. A waiting room. White tiles. Blue and red acrylic upholstered chairs. Some of last month’s magazines and some of last year’s. The bright din of fluorescent lighting in an almost empty space that mutes TIME’s Man of the Year. Five lights. A choir of mosquitos holding to sonorous buzzing. All the bead slides, all the puzzles take one of many hours. All the puzzles, all the bead slides, one, of so many blanking floor tiles that say nothing reflecting always. In the corner of his bedroom he could see his blue shorts. Allie was fascinated by the movie. The horror of the Hutu-Power, but he was stuck thinking of the puddles of his own blood he’d seen on the pavement where he’d fallen off his board. Eight hours later and the pools hadn’t dried. The crimson on the concrete, and now it was really setting in it was blending with the blue fabric and the stains’ edges were turning purple. He’d fallen before, and he’d hurt himself pretty bad before, or he’d thought so. His knees caps were covered in red scar tissue that stood out against his white skin. The same was true of his left elbow. This was the winner. He tried a Tylenol but then he just felt heavy. His mind hung away somewhere up in the cracks in the ceiling panels and he begged it to stay there. He peeled a clementine and as he bit the fruit he felt the pulsating of his cheek bone and a shock crash into his rear jaw like he’d bit a bald wire. SHIT. Charlie are you ok? Yeah sorry apparently it hurts to chew. All the time in the world for the ocean to ebb and flow. All the time to blend. For blue and green and those accents of purple or yellow or white sometimes depending on the way the sun hits or the water—or the tint on one’s sunglasses. All the time for the white foam to gurgle out and die on the sand baking in the mid-morning sun. It all faded to the burning, the burning white hot sand raging a silent hellfire. He lay in bed, his head roasting in the sands of a hangover and horrible decisions. “The results...We have the results if you'd come speak with us.”