Genes. Responsible for the appearance of everybody you meet. Race, gender, many wars are fought over those microscopic strands of DNA. They're responsible for my eyes, nose, hair, skin… and last but not least my terrible, terrible immune system.
The waiting room at this out-of-hours clinic was the same as since time immemorial, at least to me. The sunny sky pouring in through the roof's glass and pouring off of the plastic imitation greenery. Here I am again, another day gone wrong after some food didn't go down right, or something like that. My stomach was killing me, but I had devised through my previous runs at this boredom bootcamp some effective solutions to my nigh-second home's plainness.
Operation 1: newspaper shoulder-peering. Let's see…