Blue

The old linoleum tiles are faded, blue, specked with white, streaked with rubber black. The cabinets deeper blue yet washed out, worn, a blue that has seen too much flourescent light. There is a clean smell, clean like the fading smell of soap and mint, like a new box of tic tacs. I have been here before. I have been here and in other places like this. I am not here for me. Outside of the curtain there is the sounds of work. Sounds of wheels, electronics, joking, urgency. Things are heard that one doesn't hear on the streets 'Yeah, close the door. She's really tweekin', she's taken a lot of Meth.' voices and lines float as if they're traces, ghost words of past traumas. 'So what seems to be goin' on tonight?' Are these words I've heard before. The lights wash out everything, expose everything. Illuminating the sick, emphasizing there weakness. Yes I've been here before. Twenty feet away in room C4. It was the same time of night, morning more appropriately. That was the first time. I was there before. In room C8. It was the afternoon. I was not there for me. I have seen to many of these places. Sometime it will be for me.