Strangers In The Dumpster: A Fictional Narrative

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He was sitting in a squeaky leather chair. He wanted to bounce or rock, but he hated the noise the chair made. Gilbert tugged at the strands of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. The lights on the ceiling hurt his head. He could hear his father's voice in the hallway, along with Ludwig's small cries. White bits of hair tangled in his fingers. Gilbert's father was whispering to the nurse, gesturing to Gilbert, and keeping Ludwig from eating her hair. Gilbert stared down the hallway, playing with his fingers as he listened. "I'm not sure how to--" His father's voice. "Sometimes children--" The nurse's. "But he's--" "Yeah. Yeah." "Alright. Thank you." Gilbert wished the fan on the desk would stop buzzing. Heels clicked on the hard tile
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