The gauze closest to the man's eye was quite bloody. The outer wrapping, not so much, until we got about an hour and a half back towards the city.
Because they're going to tell us how the pandemic started, the Detective's shirt sleeves were splattered with blood. A suspected "media person" took an ice pick to the eye. "I don't really care how it started. I just don't want it." The Detective tried to open a file cabinet labeled in loopy lettering, cleaning supplies. "Who keeps their cleaning supplies in a file cabinet. I mean I'm not the shapest knife in the drawer, but even I know you keep paperwork files in a file cabinet." He rattled the handle. "It's locked."
An Asian person in a white coat came into the clinic's area. He went to a metal locker, unlocked it, and loaded a needle with medicine. He didn't seem to notice us. He went into a locked door where the other Asian people from the global health org had gone with a local nurse.
Sunlight splashed the concrete pad of a floor in the clinic as people in suits came into the area. "We're finally here!" One woman said.
"My husband will be so glad to know if I do or don't have AIDS," another woman read an index card. Part of a script segmented to stay on schedule building a bunch of PSA's. "I hope she doesn't. She's hot." A young man read his index card. The last suit in was a black woman related to Lateesha, the local nurse debating whether or not to take a long-term job at the clinic.
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