by Jared Oliver Adams
The website made the whole thing sound so easy. A short outpatient procedure, with very little real surgery involved. You go in, get your ride-along installed, and walk out a better man. But they didn’t mention how you had to wait in a cramped room with track lighting while people pretended not to watch you over the tops of their magazines. The pressure, the judging looks—they were too much. Gary was going home. This had been a mistake.
A nurse stepped out of the door leading to the office and Gary froze. She was looking right at him. Did her lip curl up a little in disgust?
“Gary Renard?” asked the nurse.
“I wasn’t leaving,” he lied.