Crank (Crank 1)

like prison without

the comfort of bars.

Ugly in orange,

the waiting room

made me want to

throw up. So I did.

A dozen women

gave sympathetic

looks as I returned

from the bathroom.

One by one, they

disappeared as a

stern woman in white

called their names.

Chase held my hand

as we watched them

reappear, one by

one, ashen as ghosts.

A procession of

wraiths, that’s what

it was. And I was in

the back of the line.

I rocked against the

hard plastic chair.

Finally the woman

called, “Bree Wagner.”

Chase flinched, then

whispered in my ear:

I prefer the sound