Every other Thursday

There wasn’t enough space in the garage for the old waiting room chairs, so Eugene left them out front, the bucket seats filling up with dirty rainwater that poured off the tarpaper roof.

He remembered always sitting in a yellow chair while he waited at Dr. Wilford’s for one of his therapy sessions. After Dr. W retired and closed his office, Eugene bought a seat row.

They seemed so small now. When he was a kid, he felt like he was being swallowed whole in them. In their current pathetic state, Eugene was surprised he was ever afraid of them.