So many of them look sick. They are not well. Their faces are puffy, their bodies carry weight in the wrong places. Things hurt. One has a face that’s as white as a bisque-head doll. Other’s have gone grey too soon, before their years. I saw another in the coffee shop the other day. She was on crutches. The radiotherapy has fractured her hip. Broken bodies taking in all that poison. Taking in all that poison to keep them alive. I didn’t save her. Or her. Or him. None of them.
