She sat, perched on an uncomfortable seat with yellow foam guts spilling from the splits in its worn, black leather hide. Her spindly fingers fretted at her skirt’s hem, her knuckles showing through pallid and clammy skin as she pulled at loose threads.
The waiting room had its usual stuffy smell, the air here was always vapid and lifeless, the literal air of desperation. She thought she’d soon start to asphyxiate if she remained trapped here any longer.
At last, the kind face of the doctor, always pleasant and waxing loquacious to allay her anxious temperament, appeared from the doorway.