I have just about enough time to get a shot of kratom before the place closes in 17 minutes.
I have just returned from visiting Howard, who was watching football on this Sunday afternoon.
He was surprised to see me again: "Wow, two weeks in a row!"
I had to temper his gratitude a bit by telling him that I had come across the river to go to the plasma place, only to learn that they close at 2 PM on Sundays. Of course, I showed up at 2:03 PM.
"They closed!," said a large older black man who had just come out of the place after having the door locked behind him. Of course he said it with a smile. All I could say was: "Good thing I still have some money left," to deprive him of the satisfaction of thinking that he was witnessing a white boy who was flat broke and had been counting upon the plasma money.
I am never secure in the knowledge that a plasma selling expedition will be a success. There just seem to be too many variables, between the buses that can stop running if the single lane on-ramp to the bridge is blocked by a car wreck, and of course all other kinds of things that the imagination can come up with under the "prepare for the worst" category.
Would the lab have received word from another lab that a mysterious molecule was found in my blood that is found only in the mytogyna specioso leaf (kratom) which grows in Taiwan?
Would I slip up and tell one of the vigilant staff there that I felt tired after a weekend of busking "Oh, we can take a donation from you if you feel tired; that's not healthy...?"
Would my boots be too wet from walking through the rain soaked grass to be allowed into any of the reclining couches used by donors?
Would the place have been unexpectedly closed down after an outbreak of some blood bourne virus that may be traceable back to the plasma donated at the place?
I have just returned from visiting Howard, who was watching football on this Sunday afternoon.
He was surprised to see me again: "Wow, two weeks in a row!"
I had to temper his gratitude a bit by telling him that I had come across the river to go to the plasma place, only to learn that they close at 2 PM on Sundays. Of course, I showed up at 2:03 PM.
"They closed!," said a large older black man who had just come out of the place after having the door locked behind him. Of course he said it with a smile. All I could say was: "Good thing I still have some money left," to deprive him of the satisfaction of thinking that he was witnessing a white boy who was flat broke and had been counting upon the plasma money.
I am never secure in the knowledge that a plasma selling expedition will be a success. There just seem to be too many variables, between the buses that can stop running if the single lane on-ramp to the bridge is blocked by a car wreck, and of course all other kinds of things that the imagination can come up with under the "prepare for the worst" category.
Would the lab have received word from another lab that a mysterious molecule was found in my blood that is found only in the mytogyna specioso leaf (kratom) which grows in Taiwan?
Would I slip up and tell one of the vigilant staff there that I felt tired after a weekend of busking "Oh, we can take a donation from you if you feel tired; that's not healthy...?"
Would my boots be too wet from walking through the rain soaked grass to be allowed into any of the reclining couches used by donors?
Would the place have been unexpectedly closed down after an outbreak of some blood bourne virus that may be traceable back to the plasma donated at the place?
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