“We don’t know that he had no food. More likely he had nowhere near enough. Scraps. Trash. Whatever he could find. His condition developed over time.”
“Someone had to see him.”
“Probably.”
That anger returned.
Sharp and useless.
Dr. Morris seemed to recognize it.
“Right now,” she said, “the important thing is that somebody did see him.”
I looked at Sombra.
His eyes were closed.
For the next hour, we tried food three times.
He refused three times.
At ten-thirty, Dr. Morris said, “I want to give him a little more time. His nausea may improve as hydration improves.”
I drove home shortly before midnight only because the clinic staff promised someone would remain with him.
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I showered and found black hairs stuck to my shirt.Browse Reference
I stood in my kitchen afterward staring at the empty water bowl I had carried back from the park.
