Gabrielle-Peralta
He was doubled over from pain? It was hard telling since he walked with a cane. His face looked as If it might be contorted with his uncomfort, but perhaps it was simply an old facial expression he’d once used to get his wife to get out of bed and walk the dog in the morning and it stuck. “I told you already,” he said, wagging his finger in my face. “I hate coffee and that’s all the dumb nurses give me when they go to McDonald’s and decide to get me something for once.” I shrugged, unsure of what to tell him. “It gives me gas and diarrhea,” he grumped and shuffled back into Room 106.