Adah had spent the last two weeks wandering around the hospital but had never seen the mortuary, never once thought of where they would put her father when his bed on Ward 33 was finally empty. She had known it must have been somewhere in the gaggle of fruit vendors, healers, and pirate gospel music CD sellers that lined the outer grounds and hallways of the General Hospital, but the previous two weeks had passed in a blur only brought into focus by the late-night phone call. So when she walked down the roadway that connected Charlotte Street to Emergency and the lady selling nuts asked her, “How the old man?” as she handed her the usual—a pack of salted nuts wrapped in brown paper—Adah could only shake her head and say, “He gone.” She knew that she should feel something—he was her father, after...
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Ayanna Gillian Lloyd; Public Notice. Small Axe 1 July 2017; 21 (2 (53)): 177–183. doi: https://doi.org/10.1215/07990537-4156894
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