Before I go to bed, I take two pills. One for my blood, the other for my peace. Tiny, little white shapes. One a circle, the other and oval. I know not which does what, but when they run out, I dial the number on the bottle and refill the prescription. I listen to the automated voice, follow the prompts, punch in the prescription number, and in a few days they give me a brown-orange bottle at the drive-thru. I hand them a plastic square and then they hand it back. Tell me it’s all paid for. More peace, more health, for another month.
About the author