I had been there most of the morning watching the living dead file in for their doctor's appointments. An old man in bib overalls sat down in the chair facing me. "I ain't staying," he said. His wife and son, I guessed, sat each side of him. "I ain't staying," he said again, repeating it about every two minutes. "Daddy," said his son, "it's not even your appointment. It's Mama's."
