The Old Hospital

The Old Hospital


“This is where I began,” I said to the handsome stranger in the street. I barely heard his inaudible reply, but sensed he was perplexed. I continued by telling him I had been born in the building he was standing in front of. “It’s strange,” I continued as if I was speaking to myself, “Now I live on the 2nd floor.” I think I knew that I was boring him but I couldn’t stop. “The 2nd floor is actually the 3rd because the main floor is the 1st, but you have to go up a flight of steps to get there. And there is a basement which isn’t really all the way underground.”


He told me he was not from here, and was visiting an elderly aunt down the street. She had taken a nap and he decided to check out the neighborhood, when I caught him staring at the vintage building I now called home.


“It’s not a hospital anymore, obviously, or I wouldn’t live there, right? Now it’s offices, art studios and condos,” I rambled on as I fell into the intense green eyes staring at me. “And, the boiler room out back’s a coffee shop now,” I added without pause.


As I took a breath he asked, “Do you have time for a cup?”