It's a snow globe today. I'm outside my office building, in the smoking section (judging by the ashtrays). Everything's glazed. I'm watching it fall. It's going to keep up all day.
Behind me is a window. Ground level, the glass starts at my feet and is about ten feet high and fifteen feet wide. The blinds are not drawn.
Inside is a man in a chair. He is lying down, covered in a sheet. In his mouth are no less than three-and-a-half hands. A dentist and assistant are really going at this guy. And I can watch! Easy. No peeking. Just stand there and watch. If they cared they could tell what color my shoes are without interrupting their tooth cleaning.
There's probably blood, but I don't have the stomach to look. I think of how my own gums are receding. It's been six years since I was in that chair, but I would lose all my teeth rather than be "cleaned" in public. I smoke with my back turned. And go back inside.
