A Cough

I slouch like an old man. Then tense like a toddler taking a turd. I pack my purse, toss my trash and run out of the cafe where everyone knows I need to cough. Everyone knows I was just being polite, not coughing. I swing open the glass door, turn toward the pharmacy and decide on a pit-spit-stop. Turning down a small alley, I find privacy and behind a brick wall, I spit like a tobacco chewing dugout couch. I walk away, disgusted with my bodily fluid functions. After I buy tissues, cough syrup and cough drops, I walk home and imagine dying while everyone else is at work.