She watches the second hand race across the face of the institutional clock on the wall behind the front desk. This police station has a set up similar to a walk-in clinic, she’s just realized this, the set up here is what one might face if confronted by the absurdity of healthcare, and what is that, another institution, she can’t remember when this complex was built, but the brickwork outside lends itself to the 80s, and that was probably the last time the government went on a spending spree, or at least the government here, so the look of the place is locked into an institutional mindset from 30 years ago, and was then frozen, like the prehistory inside of amber, only much less beautiful.
She hears footsteps again and she stands. Bobby walks into view, followed by the burly cop. He sees his wife and smiles and rushes to Mimi and she opens her an arm, the other one protects her coffee, because right now that’s more important, and her husband hugs her, tightly, and she tries to hug bag, but she’s watching her coffee. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
He releases her and she looks into his eyes. He’s still drunk, she can tell, but other than that he looks fine. He looks like he might appear while splayed out on the shag rug while contemplating whatever it is he contemplates. She’s relieved to see him unhurt.