Conversation About a Wild Horse

“This arm ok?” Stretch. Wrap. Snap. Click. (pause) “So. What do you do?”

One distracted explanation and half a purple-capped vial of blood later, the nurse exclaimed, “Oh! My father was also a Russian translator!” I looked up. “Russian and Spanish. He worked for the courts down in the Valley.”

“Really? In the Valley? Spanish I get, but how the hell did he learn Russian way down there?”

Shoomp. Click. New vial.

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