Woke up this morning feeling very ill. Yesterday my throat felt sore, now it seemed nearly swollen shut, and I had a fever.
At the corner doc-in-a-box, I was examined by a handsome physician (there apparently is no other kind) who told me my tonsils were swollen, and that the right tonsil was very swollen. A prescription was given along with discharge instructions and I went home. I got into some Paul Smith pajamas and curled up in the recliner, opening the nearest book at hand. This was Nicolas Pages by Guillaume Dustan. I was reminded of the long ago South of Market scene. All of a sudden, I remembered that Rex has been dead now a full decade.
I know where I must’ve picked up strep throat, and have no regrets.
Streptococcus
