The room was full.
It was the kind of full that happens on a Thursday in January when the weather has kept people indoors and the seasonal illnesses have peaked and the appointment backlog has compressed several days of normal traffic into one difficult afternoon. People sat shoulder to shoulder on the plastic chairs, stood against the walls, occupied the narrow strip of floor near the reception desk with the uncomfortable patience of those who have run out of other options. Some scrolled their phones. Some stared at the television. Some studied the floor or the ceiling or their own hands with the particular concentration of people trying to make the time pass faster by refusing to watch it.
Almost everyone looked at her at least once.
The woman in the expensive coat, cashmere, charcoal gray, the kind of garment that announces its own quality without advertising it, leaned toward the man beside her. He wore a good watch and the relaxed posture of someone accustomed to rooms where he is taken seriously.
“She probably got lost,” the woman murmured. “Wandered into the wrong department.”
“Or she came in to warm up,” he said, and the smile at the edge of his voice was not kind. “It’s free in here, at least.”
A few chairs down, a man in a business suit threw a sideways glance at the old woman and made a small sound of distaste.
