I go by Dr. R's office, downstairs in the old 1950s mall where both our clinics are. Dr. R. is rushing off. He tells me, "Come on!" The police are about to raid the secret clinic and they are hiding everything.

I know nothing about this secret clinic. Only the male doctors know about it. I am angry because it is a secret, I can't imagine why it's a male doctor secret, and because it is competing with me. It is free. I do not tell Dr. R.

We get to the storefront and people are rushing out, hiding the medical equipment. Male doctors and some women who are not doctors. The women are deferential and twittery and suck up to the male doctors. Dr. L. is retired, I wonder if he has malpractice or the state knows he's working. He smiles at me as he always does, but he is clearly uncomfortable that I am there. The furniture is wood and cheap and painted bright primary colors. I know that he works at the desk that looks like a child's desk with bright red and green and blue paint.

Another male doctor holds up a 20 oz beer. Would I like some? Yes, I say. They are going to pretend be having a party to throw the police off when they arrive. He goes to find an opener.

Dr. R. brings me a small box with a tiny pair of black shoes, very high curved heels. "This is for you," he says proudly. "They are way too small!" I say. "But Dr. B drilled the holes in them himself by hand!" says Dr. R. Dr. B. left town before I got here. I look at the black shoes and a seam is coming apart. They are filled with small blue rocks. I wonder why on earth a man would drill a hole and fill shoes with blue rocks. I also think he did not sew well. And I know that this is a bribe.

And I wake up.

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