Learning

I arrived at five to nine, checked in with reception, and took my seat.

I plonked myself down, edged tentatively, and started rifling through old trashy mags from the early noughties. I'm sure Paris Hilton would be pleased to know that in this cosmetic surgery's waiting room, she was still front cover material.

It was scant solace to see other people there. I heaved a sigh of relief. I considered it reassuring, in a way, knowing that I wasn't fully alone, mentally and physically. Camaraderie of sorts, strength in numbers, and whatnot.

The room was eerily quiet. After I was done nosing on heyday Paris, I watched in silence for a bit. I found the awkward atmosphere comforting. It allowed the seriousness of my whereabouts to properly sink in, no distractions to allay my fears. Everyone was equally ill at ease in the environment, familiar or unfamiliar, regulars or first-timers, it didn't hold any significance, they were all still unsettled by the surroundings. This wasn't a sea of smiling faces, thrills were scarce in this hostile space.



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